The Reality of Balance
by Skalidra
Summary: At the edge of death, waiting on his knees, Ichigo is yanked into a universe not his own just as Aizen raises Kyouka Suigetsu to kill him. The being that has pulled him out of his world - and pulled Aizen in for the ride as well - is insistent. They must pay attention, they must learn, and they must understand. - Done for NaNoWriMo '12! Aizen/Ichigo, warnings are inside!
1. Chapter 1

Alright, for lack of space in the summary, here are the warnings for this. These do **not **all apply in this chapter, but they will all occur at some point in the story.

_Warnings:_ Torture, non-con, slavery, angst, violence, slight mind-fuckery, explicit sexual scenes, character deaths, etc. (I'll add more on here as I read back through all of it and remember what the hell I put in here XD)

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Is this how it ends?

Ichigo swallows and stares down at the concrete beneath his knees, shivering at the feel of cold metal pressing against the back of his neck. Blood trickles down the side of his throat and into what little remains of his bankai outfit. It joins the larger patches of soaked fabric and the splashes of blood on the ground. He's already injured – right arm broken and a sizeable gash along his ribs – with countless minor cuts and scrapes. He has no idea where Zangetsu is. He dropped it when Aizen had casually wrenched his arm behind his back and snapped it, and they'd been high in the air at the time so it could be anywhere in the mostly destroyed fake-Karakura.

Breaking out of that hold had been amazingly painful, but at least he'd only gotten a thin slice across his side instead of being skewered like Aizen had intended. Of course, without Zangetsu all he could – can –do is run, and Aizen made damn sure he never had the time to look for it.

The others – the vizard and shinigami – had tried to help, but with the Espada, Ichimaru, and Tousen, they'd been hard pressed just to survive their own fights. Plus he's pretty sure Aizen had been keeping up some kind of illusion, interfering just enough to keep his subordinates alive. There wasn't really any other explanation for the lunges and slashes at empty air or Tousen's continued victory. He's certainly strong, especially since he'd turned into that _thing_, but there are enough people fighting him that he really should be dead by now. He definitely shouldn't have been able to take down Komamura, Hisagi, and Iba without breaking a sweat.

Ichigo had been on his own. Obviously that had gone _incredibly _well, what with him being on his knees in front of _Aizen; _a _sword _at his throat and no fucking chance of moving fast enough to dodge the inevitable killing strike.

_No_. Ichigo can't die here, he can't afford to. If he dies here then Karakura – just one reality away and that's _too damn close _– gets razed to the ground and everyone he knows dies. Aizen becomes what amounts to a god and then who knows what he'll do. Given the behavior trend, it won't be good. This all hinges on him surviving, He's the only one who isn't under Aizen's illusions, who has a chance in hell of beating the traitor. If he goes down, Aizen wins, and there's no way he can allow that.

His hollow stirs in the back of his mind, snarling, _'Let's go, King_.'

The hollow's tired, exhausted even, but still willing to fight. The hollow is _always _willing to fight. Of course in cases like this the sentiment is a little silly since any ability he's had to fight is long since gone.

Ichigo looks up at Aizen, careful not to lift his head enough to press against the steel resting on his neck. Aizen's brown eyes are narrowed and contemplative, watching him steadily. He swallows again under the look, struggling to keep Aizen's gaze, and slowly moves his left hand to press against the gash across his right ribs, attempting – _in vain and __**damnit**__ he knows that_ – to stem the flow of blood. It drips between his fingers as Aizen looks down at him and the sounds of battle ring in both their ears. Metal clashes, someone cries out in pain, and he flinches, wincing as Aizen's sword – _Kyouka Suigetsu, isn't it? _– bites a little further into his flesh. No one's yelled at him, has even seemed to notice he's about to fucking die, so he can only assume that they're hidden in another of Aizen's illusions.

Just fantastic. No sword, barely any power left, and no one who knows he needs help.

Aizen's eyes harden minutely, the steel draws back for a blow, and Ichigo moves. He throws himself backwards, desperately, and instead of cutting his throat Kyouka Suigetsu only draws a thin line of blood across the front of his neck. He hits the ground on his back and bites back a cry of pain at the jostling of his arm and the rubble digging into his spine. Aizen doesn't miss a beat, stepping forward and returning Kyouka Suigetsu to its place against his throat. He stiffens, not moving as Aizen places a foot on his chest, holding him in place.

"This will be less painful if you stop trying to get away, Kurosaki. No one can see us and you're not fast or powerful enough to fight me or even escape me. Give in, Kurosaki."

He shivers, managing a tiny glare. "You think I'm just going to fucking lie here and let you kill me?!"

Aizen's lips curl in a smirk, amusement bursting to life in his eyes, "I don't think you have much of a choice, honestly."

He can't move. Even if Aizen wasn't holding him down and there wasn't steel at his throat, he wouldn't be able to move. Fear is heavy in his chest, the instinctual distress triggered by confronting an opponent _much _stronger than him. The amount of times Ichigo's felt this fear is ridiculous, but it never gets easier to handle. It's a combination of pain, blood loss, exhaustion, and just plain old fucking terror. It makes it a struggle to even breathe, each intake of air gasped in and seeming to catch on the sword pressed against his throat.

Aizen's sword lifts high for an appropriate killing blow and he knows he should move, should struggle, but he can't. He's staring at that steel and Aizen's eyes and smirk, and god he's going to die and he can't even fucking move! A brief hesitation, the sword glinting above Aizen's head, and finally he forces himself to move, to jerk and try to escape but it's too late and he really _is _just going to lie there and let Aizen kill him because he'll never make it out in time and-

There's a burst of light between them, whiting out his vision, and a burning pain spreads outwards from the foot on his chest with alarming speed. He tries to cry out, scream, but he's frozen and can't as much as twitch. Nausea swells – _what has Aizen __**done **__to him?! _– and he's hit with extreme vertigo, spinning through the air and unable to feel the concrete at his back or the foot on his chest.

Is this what dying feels like; this descent – or maybe ascent? – into empty space and this pain? Isn't the agony supposed to go away? Isn't he supposed to feel all light and insubstantial and certainly _not _like he's about to throw up? His vision fades, white to grey and then grey to black.

And then, quite suddenly, he is somewhere else and _someone _else.

* * *

"Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

His eyes flick open and he focuses in on his lieutenant, Hisagi Shuuhei, letting his eyes remain narrowed. Black spots remain in his vision from the abrupt flare of white – and he files that away in a corner of his mind to figure out later – but he ignores them in favor of straightening up, looking across the table at the older man.

"Yes, Shuuhei?"

Concern is evident in the black-haired man's gaze, but one hand is on his sword. Ichigo makes a note to praise Shuuhei for that later; you can never be too careful these days. The chances of Aizen – or one of his Arrancar - finding a way into Seireitei without them knowing about it is slim, Urahara had seen to that before his death, but still possible. With Aizen, things are always possible.

"Are you alright, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?" Shuuhei's tone is cautious and his dark grey eyes are just barely narrowed.

Ichigo hates that Aizen's driven them to this. Constantly wary of threats from outside, even from each other, unable to completely trust even their friends and partners. He hates that even Shuuhei – who he's known for almost thirteen years and who's been his lieutenant for seven of those – has reason to consider he might be an enemy. There have been – _too many _– assassinations at an Arrancar's hand, the threat concealed under an illusion that almost no one can see through.

He can, and Uryuu is one of the few others, but most of Seireitei has been exposed to Aizen's shikai at some point or another. That's not even mentioning the horrific powers of his bankai. Ichigo hadn't really known pain till the day Aizen first used that on him, and he still vaguely wishes that he'd never grown to be _that _much of a threat to the traitor. He'd been damn lucky that Aizen had already been tired and both Shunsui and Ukitake had been there to force Aizen away from him.

"Fine, Shuuhei, just a little dizzy. No illusions here, promise."

The fingers of his left hand dance a subtle pattern on the fabric of his hakama, where his hand is hanging, and Shuuhei visibly relaxes, hand falling from his sword. The movements and phrase, only ever together, is his code. Each captain and vice-captain has one, sometimes several different ones to use with different people. They're changed bi-weekly with a few days of warning, and each person is only given whatever codes will be used with them and what they'll use with others. Ichigo is the only person who knows exactly what each person's code is, and if they have more than one. If it isn't delivered correctly then the other person has standing orders to discreetly keep their distance and fetch him to confirm that it's an illusion and not just a mistake brought on by exhaustion or something similar.

It's the only system they've found that works almost all the time, and the few assassins that still get by are much better than the death rate they'd had before.

"Should I fetch Unohana-taichou, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

"No, I really am fine," Shuuhei pins him with a look, unyielding, and he sighs "but I'll go by the fourth later to make sure. Satisfied?"

Shuuhei nods and Ichigo can't help the tiny smile that curls his mouth. That. That's why he'd picked Shuuhei as his lieutenant. The older man won't let him get away with _anything_, regardless of his power or status or how much he argues. That stubbornness has probably saved his life more times than he knows, and he _knows _it's saved his life at least twice.

"Would you like me to continue with the division statuses, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

"Go ahead." Ichigo steps around the table as Shuuhei returns to the report he'd been giving, moving to stand at the slightly taller man's side and see the papers strewn over the table from his angle.

"The third is rather low on shinigami, I'd recommend filing some of the latest graduates into that division to keep it from falling behind in numbers." Understandably, most of Soul Society hasn't gotten over their dislike for the third, fifth and ninth divisions.

"Done. Next?"

Shuuhei reaches down, picks up one of the four pens –the first thing Ichigo had introduced upon finding out that the shinigami were still using _brushes_ for paperwork – scattered across the table, and makes a note on one of the papers.

"The fourth is running smoothly, Unohana-taichou doesn't need any help there, but I'm thinking we should probably just disband the fifth."

Ichigo can't hold back the sigh as he raises his left hand to rake through his hair, replying with just a moment of hesitation, "It's going to be a pain in the ass, but you're right. Plan it, I'll sign off on whatever you need me to and help how I can."

The fifth is all but gone anyway. While Shinji had – before Aizen killed him – attempted to rebuild it, he didn't get far. The shinigami that had been there before were disillusioned, especially with Hinamori at their head, and the dislike of the divisions surrounding them only made it worse. Not even Shinji's manic cheerfulness managed to bring them out of their slump. It certainly didn't – and doesn't – help that Aizen seems to have made it a personal goal to wipe out anyone in the fifth.

Yeah, it's really just better that they get rid of it. The couple hundred shinigami left can be easily sorted and absorbed into other divisions.

"Will do. The sixth needs a new vice-captain and Abarai has a few candidates in mind, do you want to look through them?"

He shakes his head, "No, I trust his judgment. Tell him to bring whoever he chooses to me so I can confirm his choice."

Another note is written down and Shuuhei makes a soft noise of assent. "The sixth is running fine apart from that. The seventh is running smoothly, Yumichika is adjusting well to his new captaincy. The eighth is still under reconstruction after Aizen's last attack, but that's coming along well and Nanao-san says it should be done within the week."

"That's good, the seventh will be glad to stop sharing space with them."

"Indeed. The ninth has academy duties starting in a week, so I put the papers across your desk last week. Everyone I chose has copies of the shifts and we're completely ready to take over as soon as the time comes."

Of course. Shuuhei would never allow his division – which the dark-haired man runs on _top _of being his lieutenant _and _handling the newspaper – to fall behind on anything. Not once has Shuuhei ever brought one of the ninth's problems to Ichigo. They're always handled long before they could require his attention. He secretly thinks that Unohana and Nanao have been giving Shuuhei lessons since they're the only other people he knows who can do so much and not show the slightest bit of stress. He is, however, the _only _person filling two different posts, and the sleeveless – to match his original shinigami uniform which he still wears beneath it – white coat over the top announces that by bearing both the ninth's and the first's symbols.

"I don't think Matsumoto is up to the task of being the tenth's captain. We need to find a replacement for her and return her to the post of vice-captain. She's strong, but she doesn't have the focus needed to be a captain."

_Great_.

"Is there anyone else we can even ask?"

Shuuhei gives him a look, and he immediately knows he won't like his lieutenant's answer.

"Tatsuki-fuku-taichou has bankai, she achieved it a few weeks ago. There's no one else."

He grits his teeth and bites back a curse. Sure, Tatsuki is powerful, but Aizen _knows _his attachment to her and the idea of putting her just that one step farther up in the traitor's priorities is sickening. But, he also knows he doesn't particularly have a choice. If Aizen goes after her then Ichigo will do his best to stop him, maybe he'll even succeed. After all, he's managed to keep Renji, Uryuu, and Shuuhei alive, and they're all on Aizen's 'most wanted' list. Surely he can manage one more person.

"Do it. Ask her and we can have her captain's test within a few days if she agrees."

Shuuhei shifts over a fraction, gently pressing their shoulders together and providing a steady support. Ichigo knows Shuuhei can read the war in his eyes – he's _never _been good at hiding his emotions. The desire to keep a friend safe facing off with his duties and responsibility as captain-commander of the Gotei thirteen to make sure all his divisions are running to their best ability.

"If Tatsuki-fuku-taichou does accept, we'll need a new vice-captain for the second. Are we allowing Soi Fon to choose her own?"

He gratefully accepts the contact, snorting at his lieutenant's question, "as if she'd ever accept someone if we appointed them. Yes, Soi Fon can choose her own vice-captain with no interference from me."

Shuuhei nods in confirmation.

"Ikkaku-san is running the eleventh as well as it ever runs, nothing serious there though you can expect some late paperwork, as usual. Kurotsuchi-taichou has finally come up with a list of everything in their inventory and all the different projects they're running, along with brief descriptions. She'll have that to us by tomorrow."

Nemu had taken over after Mayuri's death, almost two years ago. The twelfth is certainly much saner than it used to be, and after she shut down all of Mayuri's pet projects – most of which were useless – the division had actually churned out some very interesting things.

"Finally, the thirteenth," Shuuhei hesitates for a brief moment before continuing, "I think you should ask Ukitake-taichou to step down as captain once we find a suitable replacement."

Ichigo looks over and catches the edge of a darkly worried expression before Shuuhei wipes it clean and returns his look. He's not entirely surprised, in fact he's been thinking the same thing. Ukitake is strong, no one can argue that, but Shunsui's death hit him hard and his illness has been steadily worsening. He isn't always in a condition to lead his division on the battlefield and they honestly can't afford to have a leaderless division these days.

"I know. I'll talk to him, Shuuhei. I promise," he pauses to consider the logistics. They don't have anyone – as far as he knows – about to gain bankai, and Ukitake's health is an issue _now_. "Make sure Kotetsu-fuku-taichou knows how to lead the thirteenth, just in case."

Shuuhei nods and leans forward, making a last note on the paper before folding it and tucking it into his uniform. "Yes, Kurosaki-sou-taichou."

Ichigo straightens and pulls away from Shuuhei's shoulder as the older man starts to gather up the papers on the table, watching and admiring the grace and play of hard muscle. Shuuhei looks back at him, one eyebrow raised and expression silently demanding an explanation for why he's still standing there. He sighs and rolls his eyes, stepping back and half-turning away.

"Alright, alright, I'll go talk to Ukitake."

"Fourth first," Shuuhei interjects immediately, reaching across the table for the last of the papers and shuffling them into a neat pile.

"_Really?_"

Shuuhei's lips curl into a tiny smirk as he straightens to his full height and tucks the papers underneath his left arm. "Go to the fourth, speak to Ukitake _and _Matsumoto, and I'll make sure everything that needs attention in the first is complete in two hours. Deal?"

Clever bastard knows _just _how to wrap him around his fingers. The promise of a night off for the first time in _weeks_, to actually be able to sleep – or not sleep, that sounds good too – for more than a hastily grabbed two or three hours.

He answers the smirk, "The first _and _ninth, then you have a deal."

Shuuhei's eyes flare with banked heat and the older man gives a soft laugh, "what a hardship, Kurosaki-sou-taichou. Deal. Now get going."

Ichigo turns without another word as warmth builds in his chest. He leaves the first division's headquarters and jumps to the roof, taking off towards the fourth. Shuuhei has been his – lover, partner? – for just over five years now. The older man is perfect, in his opinion. Attractive and honest and not at all opposed, in fact that had been what started it, to being his grounding rock in the midst of the chaos of the war. Maybe, when the war ends – _if it ends _– they can settle down. Maybe even retire, eventually.

A lot of things hinge on 'when the war ends'.

Uryuu intends to move to America, just to escape all the memories of Karakura, and – if Ichigo remembers correctly – the Quincy wants to start a career over there as a fashion designer. _When the war ends_ the two remaining vizards – just Lisa and Hachi, now – are going to leave, though they haven't shared, and he won't ask, where. Nanao has expressed her desire to marry her longtime partner Ikkaku (and there's a match he _never _expected) once the fighting is done, but the both of them agree that they won't even consider it while the war is still going.

Too many things hinge on the eventual end of a war that so far doesn't have an end in sight.

He lands in front of the fourth with practiced ease, startling a few division members with his sudden appearance. He nods to them and heads into the division, angling himself towards where he can feel Unohana's reiatsu. _That's _a skill that took way too long for him to master. Reiatsu control and kidou was his deepest weakness for a very long time and only Unohana's terrifying patience and Shuuhei's endless determination pulled him past it. He certainly doesn't have skills in that category even _close _to his lieutenant's or Nanao's – that woman can do things with kidou that scare even him – but he's getting better.

Besides, any kidou he uses is absurdly powerful without him really needing the finer points of control and he knows enough to recognize what kidou Aizen is going to throw at him next, which is the most important part.

He steps into the doorway of the room Unohana is currently in just as she pats the occupant of the room – a mid-thirties black haired man with bandages wrapped around his chest and right arm – on his uninjured shoulder and speaks softly.

"Rest, Hisaka-san."

The man nods, his eyelids already drooping, and Unohana looks up at Ichigo. She moves across the room and he steps back to stop blocking the doorway, briefly inclining his head in response to the soft smile she gives him.

"How can I help you, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?"

Inevitably, Unohana always makes him feel absurdly young and inexperienced - which he is, technically. The only reason he's captain-commander instead of her is that she had declined the offer and admitted that she would much prefer to stay captain of the fourth. He's pretty sure that even Aizen would never dare harm Unohana - she's just that scary.

"Shuuhei sent me over, Unohana-san."

She crooks a finger for him to follow her and he does, staying several steps behind as she leads him to an unoccupied room and waves him inside. He steps in and shrugs out of his captain's coat, throwing it onto the chair directly next to the door. The door clicks shut behind him as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed that dominates the center of the room.

He knows the drill by now. He's been in and out of the fourth _way _too many times in the twelve odd years since the start of the war, especially after Orihime's death - _No_. Since he'd had her killed. That wound will never close, and he's never had to make a harder choice than that, but Soul Society couldn't afford to have her around anymore. There was no way they could compete with Aizen when his troops took all of an hour to heal, if that. Eventually, when they were all forced to go back into battle against fully healed Espada with their own injuries still bleeding and bandaged, and when Byakuya had died as a result of that, Shuuhei had _demanded _he make a choice. Either expend every effort to rescue her, or have the second division kill her. They didn't have the strength to get her out, so he called it.

He didn't sleep that night, or the rest of that week, and every time he closed his eyes he saw her staring back at him, grey eyes sad and accusatory. Uryuu wouldn't look at him for months afterwards. He still, occasionally, wakes from nightmares related to that.

"So, Kurosaki-san, what happened?"

He shakes his head, frowning and bringing the memory back to the front of his mind. "No idea. We were talking, nothing out of the ordinary, there was this bright flash of white light and I got really dizzy for a few seconds. Then, nothing. It all just went away."

She makes a soft noise of understanding and moves forwards, pressing her left hand against his forehead. He shivers at the current of reiatsu that slides into him, recognizing it as Unohana's version of a basic check-up. Ichigo's eyes slip closed and he relaxes, letting the tension bleed out of his muscles and his reiatsu settles into a smooth pond instead of the storm ravaged ocean it's been since the bout of dizziness.

Unohana always has this effect on him. Just being around her – when she's not irritated at you in that '_I'm going to be so cuttingly polite and friendly that you'll immediately be guilty and fix whatever is irritating me_' way – is calming, soothing. She's like the adopted mother of the entire Gotei thirteen, and how she manages that he doesn't know.

"There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with you, Kurosaki-san."

He stirs and flicks his eyes open as Unohana withdraws her hand, looking up at the other captain. Her blue eyes are warm and she smiles at him in a way that on anyone else would be completely friendly and open. On her it is a '_you're going to listen to me and do exactly as I say_' smile, and he obediently straightens up and pays full attention.

"Most likely it was caused by simple stress. I'd recommend you get some sleep, Kurosaki-san. Go home early today."

Sometimes he swears Shuuhei can see the future. If it hadn't been such a spur of the moment visit he might even think the two of them were conspiring against him. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Shuuhei already has plans to have everything done in both of our divisions in a little under two hours. That good with you, Unohana-san?"

Her smile twitches upwards, becomes a genuine expression of warmth with no meaning behind it, and she nods. "Express my thanks to Hisagi-san, Kurosaki-san," she steps back and moves to the door, speaking softly over her shoulder as she opens it, "and tell him I said not to keep you up _all _night." He flushes as she sweeps away without glancing back, any kind of rebuttal impossible in the face of her gentle teasing.

He shakes his head and stands, walking across the room to collect his captain's coat. He shrugs back into it and steps out of the room, easily navigating back through the fourth division and out to its courtyard. Seriously, he knows the fourth division _way _too well. The only other divisions he can navigate as well as the fourth are the first and ninth, for obvious reasons.

Now, to Ukitake.

He jumps back into the air, enjoying the rush of wind that beats against his face and billows out his coat, and makes his way to the thirteenth via rooftops. The corridors below are fine if he feels the need to think or just to walk, but totally useless for actually getting from one area to another quickly. Someday, once – _if _– the war ends, he's going to tear down the entire place and rebuild it. There is _no _reason for it to be so complicated.

He follows Ukitake's reiatsu signature to the much older man's office, setting down in the thirteenth's main courtyard. Kiyone – the thirteenth's vice-captain since her third-seat partner Sentarou's death – waves as he straightens up and detaches herself from the group of shinigami she'd been talking to. He meets her halfway as the other shinigami none-too-subtly ogle at them.

"Here to talk to Ukitake-taichou, Kurosaki-sou-taichou?" He nods and she grins, ever playing the friendly kid. "Follow me!"

He does, letting her lead him through the thirteenth division to Ukitake's office. The other shinigami step out of their way and murmur greetings, bowing and not meeting his eyes. He'll never get used to that. Still, he supposes it's better than the _looks _he got before becoming captain-commander, when he was just some part-human kid with way too much power who also just so happened to be Soul Society's only hope against Aizen.

Kiyone smiles again and knocks on the door to Ukitake's office, receiving a muffled, "Come in!"

She opens the sliding door and he enters after giving her a nod of thanks, the door sliding shut behind him. Ukitake looks up and his eyes widen for a brief moment before the captain straightens and smiles, carefully setting down the pen in his hand.

"Kurosaki-sou-taichou! How can I help you?"

Ichigo moves into the room, taking the chair opposite the desk from Ukitake and flicking eyes over the captain. He looks good today, normal color in his cheeks and his hands lacking the tremor usually there if he's had an attack recently.

"Ukitake-san, I…" His throat locks. Ukitake is one of his most trusted friends, one of the few people he's never doubted. Asking him to step down from a position he's had _long _before Ichigo was even born is more difficult than he thought it'd be.

Ukitake sighs and his smile softens, hands clasping together in front of him. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd get around to it. You're here to ask me to step down as captain, correct?"

He nods, wincing. "Not immediately, but when we find someone capable of replacing you."

Ukitake smiles and leans back in his chair, "In truth I was considering asking you to replace me if you didn't get around to it soon. I'm getting too old for this, and while I am perfectly willing to continue fighting till the war ends, it isn't fair to the thirteenth to have a leader who isn't capable of leading half the time." The older captain gives him a reassuring smile, brown eyes light and friendly. "Let me know when you have a replacement in mind, Kurosaki-san. I'll gladly hand over my seat and stick around for awhile to help them integrate with life here."

He can't help sighing in relief, eyes flickering closed for a brief moment. "Thanks, Ukitake-san. That makes things a lot simpler."

Ukitake chuckles and straightens up, reclaiming his pen from the desk and pulling several papers towards him. "You're welcome, Kurosaki-san. Now I imagine there are a few other errands on Hisagi-san's list which you need to attend to. Thank you for the visit, Kurosaki-sou-taichou."

Effectively dismissed, Ichigo bows his head and stands from the chair. He leaves the division, nodding to Kiyone on the way out, and pauses in the courtyard. Matsumoto will be the most difficult of his 'errands'.

She's still grieving for Hitsugaya's death – only a few short months ago – and she's been trying to manage the tenth on top of that and with only a third-seat hurriedly turned vice-captain to help. They'd thought she was ready but, well, the late paperwork and recent disorganization of the tenth division proved that she wasn't. He doesn't relish the idea of telling Matsumoto that if Tatsuki accepts their offer she'll be replaced by a woman at least fifty years her junior, and she'll _also _be expected to return to her post as vice-captain and help said woman.

He can't imagine she'll take that news well, Ichigo knows he wouldn't if their positions were reversed.

He takes to the air, hunting down Matsumoto's unique reiatsu pattern and moving towards it. She's outside her division – in one of the training yards – watching silently as her vice-captain drills what Ichigo knows _has _to be the latest batch of recruits from the Academy. He can't stifle a wince at her appearance, her eyes ringed with dark circles and a heavy mix of exhaustion and grief in her gaze. Nevertheless she immediately turns towards him as he lands next to her, summoning a tiny smile to her lips.

"Welcome, Kurosaki-sou-taichou. What is it?"

"I have something to tell you, Matsumoto-san." Worry lights in her eyes but all she does is nod in assent, obviously bracing to hear it. "Shuuhei and I are going to ask Tatsuki to take over as captain of the tenth. If she accepts, you'll be moved back down to vice-captain."

To his surprise Matsumoto sighs in relief, sagging. "Oh thank _god!_" He gets less than a second's warning before she has him in a bone-crushingly tight hug, her head on his shoulder.

"_Matsumoto…_" he manages to croak out as his ribs groan in protest, but she completely ignores him.

"I am _so _not cut out for this! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I've never been so grateful to be demoted in my _life!_"

"_Matsumoto,_" he repeats, vainly pushing at her chest, "_need to __**breathe**__._"

"Oh!" She releases him and he gasps in air, coughing and wincing at the leftover twinges from his abused sides. "Sorry, Kurosaki-sou-taichou." He waves off the apology and she beams, looking about two inches away from hugging him again and he edges away because _really_, once was enough.

"I'll let you know when Tatsuki decides, but ideally we'll have her test within a few days and the ceremony right after that."

She nods, still smiling, and then gives him a sly little wink that she _must _have learned from Shunsui. "Have a good night with Shuuhei, Kurosaki-_sou-taichou_. Thank him for me, hm?" She turns without letting him answer, swaying over towards her vice-captain and the recruits.

He shakes his head and sighs, though his lips do quirk upwards in a smile of his own. There's maybe an hour and a half left of work back at his division before the promised night off, before he can spend all night properly reacquainting himself with Shuuhei. They haven't had this much time to themselves in a very long time, it'll be nice to be able to relax and just be himself instead of 'the captain-commander'.

He heads back to the first division, finding a moderately sized stack of paperwork on his desk with a note stuck to the top, written in smooth, flowing handwriting.

_Already looked over these, just need a signature. See you at six._

He sinks into his chair and runs a hand through his hair before reaching for one of the two or three pens on his desk. After that he sinks into a kind of trance, mindlessly pulling papers towards him and signing his name at the required spots. It's dull – mind-numbingly boring to be honest – but sadly necessary. It's everything from supply requests to reports from shinigami stationed in the human world, and every single one needs either his approval or a signature confirming that he's read it.

Thank god for Shuuhei or he'd be up to his neck in the stuff.

Eventually he's woken by a light tap to the frame of his door. He flinches, going into high alert for a moment before he recognizes the reiatsu and face at his door as Shuuhei's. His lieutenant gives a soft smile, dark grey eyes amused.

"Lose track of time?"

He straightens up and drops the pen, pushing back from the desk. "Well there's no clock in here, what do you expect?" He gets to his feet, pushing his arms over his head in a stretch and groaning at the multitude of cracks from his back. "What time is it?"

Shuuhei crosses the room with an easy grace and circles the desk to stand next to him, smirk tugging at his lips. "Two minutes till six. How'd your meetings go?"

He looks over at the other man, dropping his arms down and returning the smirk. "Ukitake is perfectly willing to step down, _wants _to, actually. Matsumoto is the same way. Matsumoto and Unohana wanted me to thank you." He grins, reaching out and taking a fistful of the older man's shirt to pull him closer. "And Unohana says to tell you not to keep me up _all _night."

Shuuhei leans in and they share a kiss, chaste and sweet. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get started earlier then, hm? Dinner?"

"I can wait," he nearly growls, dragging Shuuhei back down.

But right before their lips touch Ichigo stiffens, something tugging deep in his soul and raising warning bells in every corner of his mind. "Fuck…" he hisses out, leaning his head down to rest against Shuuhei's shoulder.

A moment later alarms go off, shrieking into the air and undoubtedly waking every shinigami not already awake. Shuuhei sighs and Ichigo can't help but snort as he releases the older man and steps back.

"Aizen's got terrible timing, as usual," he comments.

Shuuhei steps to the window and shoves it open, slipping a foot up onto the windowsill to prepare for a jump. As he does a chill hits Ichigo, something sending a shudder down his spine and settling in his gut. Something is different about this fight, something is important, and he learned a long time ago not to ignore his instincts.

"Shuuhei, wait."

The older man looks back at him, one eyebrow raised and clearly puzzled. "What is it?"

"I love you," he admits, and Shuuhei's eyes widen, "I've never said it, but I do. I thought you should know."

Shuuhei doesn't move off the windowsill but he gives a soft smile as he quietly says, "I love you too, Ichigo." He holds out a hand and Ichigo takes it, allowing the older man to pull him towards the window. "Let's go, we have a would-be god to defeat, remember?"

He grins, feeling lighter than he has in a long time and launches himself from the window towards where he can feel Aizen waiting. Soukyoku hill, how appropriate. The Espada and Arrancar he's brought along are already wreaking havoc, but he can feel his own forces moving to counter them. He knows Shuuhei will make sure to deploy everyone as efficiently as possible, tactics and strategy are his strongest point after all. Not like Ichigo. He can hit, and hit hard, but in the end his only job in this fight is to keep Aizen occupied. He's the only one who can stand up to the traitor, Aizen has made sure to wipe out every other threat.

He skids to a stop as he draws Zangetsu from its sheath at his waist, the massive blade long since sealed into a normal state instead of its permanent shikai. Aizen smiles at him, all knives behind the mask of honey, Kyouka Suigetsu already drawn at his side.

"Come back for another try, bastard?" he snaps and Aizen laughs, the traitor's reiatsu cold and abrasive against his own where they brush against each other.

"Of course. Ready, Ichigo-kun?"

"Let's dance, Aizen."

There's no point in drawing this out, not at this stage. They're both too powerful and they know each other too well to waste time on the normal ritual of combat.

"Bankai, Tensa Zangetsu!"

The dust swirls around him but even through the roar of power in his ears he can hear Aizen's similar call.

"Bankai, Kyouka Suigetsu Oroseken!"

Great, just great. Aizen's bankai has to be the nastiest piece he's ever seen, and that's saying something considering Soi Fon has a _nuke_ and Shuuhei's focuses on depriving his opponent of air and slowly suffocating them. No offense to his partner but he'd really like to never watch that again.

A single drop of Ichigo's blood on his blade and Aizen will be able to trap him inside a mental universe that is completely and utterly under his control. Anything that the traitor can imagine – and that imagination is _damn _vivid – he can create and even though none of it is real, and they're simply frozen on the outside, it definitely _feels _real.

The dust starts to clear and he jumps forwards towards the reiatsu he can feel pushing against his own, shoving his blade against Aizen's. The other man is still smiling and that sets him on edge, normally Aizen has long since started smirking. In fact, the last time he can recall Aizen smiling like this was mid-way through one of their previous fights. Oh god, no. It had been the day he'd set Stark on Shunsui and very deliberately had Ukitake distracted so there was no one to watch the captain of the eighth's back.

"What did you do?!" he demands, a hundred different possibilities jumping to the front of his mind. Tatsuki, Renji, Uryuu, _Shuuhei_.

Aizen casually flicks his blade aside, an unvoiced kidou flying from his hand, and Ichigo brushes it aside with his bare hand and swirls out of the way of the follow-up slash of Kyouka Suigetsu. He answers with a thrust to Aizen's ribs that the traitor slides away from, still smiling.

"Haven't you sensed it already, Ichigo-kun?" A brief check of the different reiatsu signatures and Ichigo knows what the other man is talking about, the blood draining from his face. Aizen gives a mock noise of worry, cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't think dear Shuuhei is up to the task of beating Stark, do you?"

No. Shuuhei is powerful, but not _that _powerful. He'll never survive against Stark, not if the Espada is even halfway serious, and if this is _Aizen's direct order_ then Stark – true to his nature – will do it quickly and efficiently and Shuuhei will die.

"You _bastard_," he snarls, lunging at Aizen. The traitor blocks his sword and his left hand flings a kidou at Ichigo who turns to avoid it, letting the burst of white energy fly past his cheek with only inches to spare. "I'll fucking kill you!"

Another swing of metal and Aizen's sword flashes past his throat, Zangetsu driving forward in response and being pushed away by the flat of the blade. "You've tried before, Ichigo-kun."

He barely avoids the next slice of Kyouka Suigetsu, the blade ripping a small hole in the fabric of his captain's coat which – for some reason he's never been able to figure out – sticks around when he goes into bankai. Aizen smirks and presses forwards, ducking low to aim another strike at Ichigo's stomach. He jumps back and reaches inwards for the well of reiatsu deep in his soul, immediately stepping forwards again to counter as he begins to whisper a kidou chant under his breath. Damnit, Shuuhei and Unohana had drilled the incantations into his mind so he might as well use them.

_Shuuhei_.

"Ye lord, mask of flesh and blood," Aizen's eyes narrow and the traitor goes on full offensive, "flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of man," Ichigo's driven back, gritting his teeth against the force of Aizen's blows, "truth and temperance, upon this sinless wall of dreams," Kyouka Suigetsu slides past his guard, slicing another hole in his coat as he jerks to the side to stop it cutting open his side, "unleash but slightly the wrath of your claws."

He bats aside Aizen's sword, stepping in closer and lashing out with his left hand, energy gathering at his fingertips. "Hadou thirty-three, Soukatsui!"

Aizen whirls out of the way of the massive blue blast of energy, a single step of shunpo taking him out of harm's way. He knows he should take advantage of the traitor's momentary distraction, but as he starts to move Shuuhei's reiatsu flares in panic and he hesitates, caught between fighting Aizen and leaving to save his lieutenant. Aizen reemerges and the choice is taken from him as the older man throws another unvoiced kidou at him and follows right on its heels.

He flicks Zangetsu to send the kidou ricocheting off into the dirt and nearly gets impaled by Kyouka Suigetsu as Aizen drives it forward. It misses him by almost nothing, sinking through the fabric of his coat and so close he can almost feel the biting cold of it through his bankai robes. He immediately lashes out with Zangetsu and Aizen jerks back, drawing far enough away to free his sword and avoid all but a thin slice across his cheek that instantaneously begins beading blood. He takes a step forward to pursue Aizen and Shuuhei's reiatsu spikes again, stilling him.

Aizen smirks, Kyouka Suigetsu hanging at his side. "If I'd known you were this easy to distract I would have sent Stark after your little lieutenant years ago, Ichigo-kun."

Fury sparks and he almost lunges at Aizen before he feels Shuuhei's reiatsu waver. He almost turns, almost leaps into the air with all of his considerable speed to save the other man, until Aizen's smirk and the anticipatory gleam in the older man's eyes bring him crashing back down to reality.

He _can't _save Shuuhei.

If he leaves to save his lieutenant from Stark then Aizen will follow him. If he kills Stark – and that's not hard, he's _so _much stronger than the Espada – then Shuuhei will be stuck in the middle of a fight between him and Aizen, and that's not a place _anyone _can survive. Especially not since Aizen will make sure to send as many stray bursts of energy towards the lieutenant as possible.

Shuuhei will just have to save himself because there's nothing Ichigo can do without making the situation worse. It burns, but he forces himself to focus on Aizen and turn his worry and anger into fuel for his determination. The best thing he can do at the moment is to keep Aizen busy and, hopefully, kill him.

Yeah… not likely.

"Go to hell, Aizen."

The older man's smirk widens a little, brown eyes alight with cruel amusement. "Not likely, but you're welcome to try and send me there if you like," Aizen slides his left foot back, turning sideways, and continues with words that Ichigo knows _far _too well, "Seeping crest of turbidity, arrogant vessel of lunacy."

Fuck. He jumps forwards, trying to keep Aizen from continuing that chant. The spell itself is devastating but when Aizen bothers to chant the whole thing – which he's done all of _three times _and Ichigo doesn't think he's ever lost more blood than the one time he got caught in it – it's more than enough to kill a normal captain. Aizen bats aside his sword and retaliates with a swift slash that forces him to retreat several steps. The traitor doesn't give him a chance to come back on the offensive, pursuing him and forcing him to struggle just to avoid Kyouka Suigetsu.

"Boil forth and deny, grow numb and flicker. Carriage of thunder, bridge of a spinning wheel," wait, those aren't the words to Kurohitsugi, "Disrupt sleep, crawling queen of iron, eternally self-destructing doll of mud. Unite! Repulse! With light, divide this into six! Fill with soil and know your own powerlessness!"

Aizen pauses and raises his left hand, smirk _just _shy of a grin. "Bakudou sixty-one, Rikujoukourou! Hadou ninety, Kurohitsugi!"

Yellow light leaves Aizen's hand just before black energy pours from it and Ichigo can only think one thing as the binding kidou slams into his midsection and immobilizes him, the black energy starting to form around both him and Aizen in the distinctive box shape.

Oh, _**shit**_.

Aizen steps back and out of the box, it slams shut behind him. The reiatsu vibrates around Ichigo and as the kidou activates, lancing dark energy at him and shattering the yellow binding spell on impact, he screams.

It hurts, unbelievably so, and he can feel each individual spear of the kidou as it slices through his skin. His massive reiatsu is enough to dull it and stop it from being fatal, but that's about all. He's finished, that's all there is to it. While Zangetsu is still in his hand – he will _not _release his grip on the sword – it won't be useful. He can feel one of the spears where it's impaling his right calf, that'll slow him down, and another that's been driven through his left side. He breathes shallowly, struggling not to let the second scream building in his throat pass.

The kidou – after what feels like several long minutes – withdraws and he staggers, crying out at the fresh pain to his leg, side, and the hundred other surface – and not so surface – cuts overlaying his skin. Blood soaks the tattered remains of his clothing and drips to the ground, _too much _of it.

Ichigo catches movement out of the corner of his eye and registers Aizen's presence, far too late, as the traitor steps in front of him and smoothly thrusts Kyouka Suigetsu forward and through his chest. He stares at the blade for a moment before raising his eyes to Aizen's face. The brown eyes are cold, dark, and he shivers.

That's it, Aizen's won. Ichigo's not going to survive – even he can't usually shake off a sword through the chest – and he knows it, he can _feel _it. At the edge of his perception he feels Ukitake join Shuuhei and has a moment of relief. Good, Ukitake is a match for Stark, Shuuhei will survive the Espada after all even though he couldn't be there to save him.

Wait…

"Rest in peace, Ichigo-kun."

No. Shuuhei will never accept Aizen's rule, and the traitor will kill him without a doubt. Shuuhei and Renji and Uryuu and Tatsuki and every other person Ichigo knows. _No_.

He grabs Aizen's arm with his left hand, dragging the startled traitor closer as he brings Zangetsu up through pure force of will. Aizen gives a shocked gasp as the sword slides into his flesh in a near mirror of Ichigo's own wound.

"Not alone," he grits out, hand tightening around Zangetsu even as his legs give out and send him crashing to the ground. Because of the way they're connected Aizen is pulled down with him, a cry of pain leaving the traitor's lips as Ichigo's sword digs into the edges of the injury.

"You…" Aizen gasps out, brown eyes narrowed in anger, and Ichigo can't help but sag against the older man. His head falls against Aizen's shoulder, pain creasing his brow even as satisfaction rises from the tremble he can feel in Aizen's frame.

"You think I'd die and not take you with me?" He snorts and then winces. Sudden clarity hits him and he relaxes, cold starting to invade the tips of his fingers. "Come on, Aizen. This is how it has to end, this is how it's _always _had to end."

Aizen shudders against him and he feels the traitor's head settle against his shoulder, warm breath hitting his neck. "I should have killed you years ago."

He chokes out a laugh, tasting the coppery flavor of blood as it fills his mouth. "Yeah. Should is a terrible word, isn't it?"

The traitor chuckles, breathy and laced with pain. "Is this really an appropriate time to discuss the merits of the word 'should', Ichigo-kun?"

Yeah, Aizen has a point there. "Probably not," he admits, closing his eyes against the white fabric of Aizen's outfit. Not that it'll be white for long, he's bleeding all over it. In the back of his mind he feels Stark falter, fall, and sighs just as Aizen flinches against him.

"There goes that," the traitor murmurs, "I suppose Shuuhei will be here any minute now to scream a long, cliché, 'no' at you."

He can, in fact, feel Shuuhei moving towards them, Ukitake at his heels. The pain has dulled, partly due to the cold stealing into his limbs and partly because of his lack of movement. He knows if he tries to pull away from Aizen the sword will shift in his chest and ignite a fresh wave of pain. It's so much easier to just stay here with his eyes closed and lean against Aizen and let that cold numb all the pain of the hundred or so slices in his skin. He gives an involuntary shiver as his clothes shift around him and change back into his normal shinigami uniform, a clear sign that he's dying.

Is it sad this has happened to him five separate times?

Ichigo lets out a long breath, his hand dropping from Zangetsu as his thoughts fog. Someone is yelling – or at least he _thinks _that sound in his ears is yelling – but it's dim and muted and not important at the moment, right?

The void pulls at him and he lets it, sinking into its welcoming abyss and letting the darkness strip him into nothingness.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! This is the first chapter of what was my NaNoWriMo project back in November, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed! There's a bunch more to this and, no worry, next chapter explains what's going on at least a little bit. No timeline for when that will go up, but my beta is working through a few things for me as I type this, and once she's done with those I'll be sending her the next chapter of this. (It's worth sticking around, I promise!)

Beta-ed by the incredible theramenfreak (so much love, seriously), you can thank her for this being readable!


	2. Chapter 2

Ichigo gasps and his eyes fly open, back arching painfully. All he can see is off-white walls bathed in a soft yellow light with no identifiable source, even as he collapses back to what he assumes is an equally off-white floor. He coughs and then heaves several deep breaths as he rolls over to get his arms underneath him.

What the _hell? _What had that been? There had been the bright white light as Aizen prepared to kill him and then… _that_.

Seriously, what the _fuck_?

He'd get the whole watch your life flash before your eyes thing, but that hadn't been anywhere close to his past. That had been a future or… something. He didn't even…

"Kurosaki!"

He startles and whips his head up, eyes focusing on an approaching – and clearly pissed – Aizen. Ichigo jerks up and makes it to his knees before the traitor lashes out, grabs a handful of his shinigami uniform, and hauls him up the rest of the way.

"What have you done?" Aizen hisses, brown eyes narrowed and everything about him radiating danger.

Maybe he has no sense of self-preservation but he doesn't even think before shoving Aizen away from him, forcing the traitor to release him as he glares right back. "What have _I _done? That's my line, bastard! What the _hell _was that?!"

_Enough!_

Something sweeps his legs out from under him and sends him crashing to the ground with a yelp, barely catching himself on his arms. He pushes back up to his knees and looks around for the source of the mental shout, noting with no small satisfaction that Aizen is on the ground as well. The room they're in is fairly small, though the walls seem to blur if he looks at them too closely, and there aren't any visible doors or windows. It also seems to be unoccupied apart from them.

"I'm here."

He jerks his head around to look in the direction of the voice and immediately wonders how he missed the person standing there the first time. He's between Aizen and Ichigo's height and seems to be emitting white light from his very pores, softening every line of his body and making it hard to pin down anything about his appearance. Long hair falls down his back and he's in some kind of white clothing, though Ichigo can't tell what it is. Golden eyes are watching him, hard and just barely narrowed, though they flick to Aizen when the traitor stands.

"And you are?" Aizen asks, superiority in each line of his stance and tone.

The person – _being_ – grins, steps closer, and Aizen gives a small sound of frustration as his right leg buckles and he's forced to one knee. "You can call me God or King, Aizen."

No way. The _King_?

The being steps back again, eyes glancing between the two of them. "Not of your universe. Your world doesn't have a King yet, that's why I'm here." He can't help staring as the King sits down onto what looks like a chair of pure energy, one leg crossing over the other. "Here's the deal, this is how the post of King works. Hush, Aizen, I know that you've researched this but you're _wrong_."

Aizen's mouth snaps shut with an almost audible click. Irritation is sharp in his brown eyes but it's tempered with almost equally sharp curiosity. The King watches the traitor for a moment, ensuring that he'll remain silent, before continuing.

"Good. The King acts as a balancing force for the universe. He, or she, is what keeps all the different worlds in balance and makes sure they don't fall to ruin. This is a destiny sort of thing. You're either the one who's supposed to be the King, or you aren't. No one who isn't supposed to be the King can ascend to the throne, but those who are supposed to don't _have _to. The King keeps the balance until a new King is chosen, and there's a set person every few thousand years or so. There are at least a couple thousand different universes, probably more, and at least _one _has to get it right."

"Here's where things get interesting. Any universe that doesn't get it right vanishes as soon as one does – which is a good thing because all those other worlds have fallen into ruin and war. Then an entirely new set of universes is born as if the old ones made the right choices, and life continues. Understand so far?"

Ichigo gives a hesitant nod and Aizen echoes it. The irritation has mostly vanished from the older man's gaze and instead his eyes are thoughtful and turned down to the ground. "Then what happens if there is no universe where the rightful King has ascended?" he asks softly, looking up at the King.

"All reality is wiped clean and we start over from scratch with completely different people. We, cease to exist." Ichigo can't help shuddering but Aizen only shifts to sit cross legged, studying the King.

"Unless you decided to deceive us for some reason, you said you were the King. We should be set for this round unless you're the previous King, though I'd imagine you'd look older if you were."

The King laughs, golden eyes lighting with amusement. "Not necessarily, but I'm not the last King, he was gone by the time I got there. I'm this round's King, but I'm not _all _of this round's King and I was getting around to explaining that. On rare occasions there isn't a single person with a soul capable of balancing the universe, occasionally there are two people."

Horrible suspicion settles in Ichigo's stomach and the King looks over at him with a smirk as if sensing it. "Yeah, you get it. The both of you, together, are the King for this round." The King stands as Ichigo stares in shock, smirk vanishing. "Now I've tried this with a couple other universes and you're both stubborn asses so there's no point just talking to you."

Aizen stands, irritation once more in his eyes, and Ichigo scrambles to his feet as well as the traitor begins to talk. "If you think I'm going to share my throne with Kurosaki–"

"You guys are soul mates! I'm God, I know this shit, so suck it up and deal." Aizen flinches in shock, eyes widening, and then his eyes narrow to mere slits.

"Kurosaki is a _child_ and I'm not that–"

The King once again cuts him off, rolling his eyes. "Oh please. Our little tour will prove you wrong but that's not what soul mates means, anyway. You aren't fated to be together or anything, it just means that your two souls are linked and you will _inevitably _be important to each other in some way, regardless of the universe. Now, let's get going!"

Ichigo comes to a sudden realization, staring at the King, and the gold eyes flick to him with amusement dancing in their depths. "Wait, you're-"

The floor drops out from under him and he falls into darkness before he can finish the thought.

* * *

"Ichigo?"

Ichigo sways on his feet for a moment before shaking his head, looking up to focus on Aizen. The older, wealthier, and stronger man is looking at him with narrowed eyes over his book, glasses perched low on his nose.

"Sorry, Aizen-sama, just a bit of a head-rush," he bows his head, hand tightening around the rag he's been using to clean the desk he's standing by, "I'll be done in just a minute."

Aizen carefully marks his place in the book and sets it down on the small table beside the armchair he's sitting in. "Don't bother with that, come here." He obeys, setting the rag down and approaching the lord, eyes lowered in feigned respect. Aizen reaches up and grasps his wrist as he stops before him, lightly tracing a thumb over his pulse point. "I bought you as a servant, Ichigo, not my maid. There's no need for you to clean anything unless I order it."

It's strange, almost unbearably so. Aizen had bought him just a little less than three days ago and he's _still _finding it hard to adjust to the lord's tastes. Aizen hasn't so much as touched him in any kind of sexual sense, doesn't even seem to want to, and that's not even _half _of his weird behavior. Aizen doesn't mind if he talks, or asks questions or offers suggestions, in fact he _encourages _it so long as he remembers his place. Like he could ever forget that he's a slave – even if Aizen says servant – or that he has no actual say in his life since being sold that first time.

"Aizen-sama…" he starts, and Aizen gives a slight nod – permission for him to continue. "No offense, and I'm sorry for not knowing, but what am I supposed to be doing?"

Aizen gives a soft smile, gently tugging him down by his wrist to kneel beside his legs. He hates it but doesn't fight, obediently sinking to his knees under the pull. The goal is to convince Aizen that he's a loyal and tamed slave and to make him relax his guard. This is it, the final goal in his long undercover work. If they – him and the other members of the rebellion – can take down Aizen, the lord who runs the slave trade, they'll have completed an impressive accomplishment and be able to rest for awhile. It's just this, just today. He calls to confirm it with Renji at noon and then this place gets swarmed by rebels the moment it hits six.

Aizen releases him and strokes a gentle hand across his cheek. "Nothing, Ichigo." He looks up in surprise and the lord gives a small smirk. "I don't expect you to be a mind-reader, and I certainly don't expect you to find ways to keep yourself busy for my benefit. As my servant all I ask is that you stay in the room with me unless I say otherwise and obey the orders I do give you. Hesitate if you want, ask me why I'm giving them if you want, and so long as I haven't given you something to do you are welcome to entertain yourself. Though I'd appreciate it if you kept the noise level down."

He swallows as Aizen reaches for his book again, watching the older man as he lays it open on his lap. "Really?" He stiffens after realizing he's forgotten to include Aizen's title, which was one of the very first things they'd beaten into him when he started this whole cursed adventure and got himself sold into slavery for his damn _cause_.

Aizen, however, doesn't even look up. "Of course, Ichigo. Though if you plan to strip or sweat in any fashion let me know. I'd like to watch." The whole thing is delivered in a dry murmur without as much as a glance up at him, and it takes a moment for Ichigo to register it as a joke. When it does register he relaxes, letting out a soft sigh of relief and leaning forwards against the chair and the side of Aizen's leg.

The lord shifts and he tenses again, recalling one of the other rules his last master had insisted on and wondering if Aizen is going to hurt him for daring to touch without permission. He flinches as Aizen's hand settles on his head and then begins to softly card through his hair. He slowly relaxes as it becomes clear that the older man isn't going to hurt him, closing his eyes against Aizen's thigh and allowing himself to lean more comfortably against the chair.

It should probably irritate him that he's kneeling on the ground and letting Aizen pet him like some kind of cat, but Ichigo can't bring himself to care. He's so _tired_, so utterly exhausted from the years and years he's put into this assignment and the utter hell it's been, that being allowed to just relax is glorious. He's done with all this, more than ready to go back to his life and actually live it.

Before he knows it he's fallen into a half-asleep state to the soft stroke of Aizen's hand and the quiet beat of his own heart. It isn't until he's gently shaken and Aizen calls his name that he snaps back to awareness.

His eyes flick open and he jerks up from his comfortable position against the chair. "I, I'm sorry, Aizen-sama!" He shakes his head to clear the lingering fog of sleep and Aizen easily catches his chin, tilting his head up to connect their eyes.

"Did I ask you to do something, Ichigo?"

He hesitates, "I don't… think so."

Aizen raises an eyebrow and gives a soft smile. "Then you don't have to apologize, do you? If you don't hear me I'll know it and make sure to have your attention before I repeat the command. I will punish you for ignoring me, but never simply for not hearing, understood?"

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

The lord gives a satisfied nod and releases him, getting to his feet and motioning for him to do the same. "Good, now come with me. I believe it's about time for lunch, don't you?"

"If you wish, Aizen-sama." Aizen glances at him with sharp eyes and he almost flinches under the look, barely managing to restrain the reaction.

Aizen leaves the room and he silently follows as the lord easily navigates his home – manor, really – to the kitchen, leaning in the doorway. There's a single cook in the room, a tall man with long blonde hair held behind his back in a loose ponytail that's crouched before the open oven. "Il Forte, time frame?"

The man jumps, slamming the oven shut as he whirls on the spot, brown eyes wide. "Holy!" Il Forte clears his throat, straightening up, and gives a shallow bow of his head. "Ten or so minutes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen nods and steps out of the room, walking to the next door which opens into a small dining area with a table that has six chairs around it. Aizen moves to sit at one end as he hovers at the door, uncertain where he's supposed to go. He doesn't see any specific place for him, only the single table. Aizen looks up, obviously noting his uncertainty, and gestures at the chair to his left.

"Sit down, Ichigo."

He's voicing his confusion before he can stop himself. "At the table, Aizen-sama?"

Slight confusion flickers in the lord's eyes and one elegant eyebrow rises. "Yes, Ichigo."

He obeys, feeling tremendously awkward as he slides into the offered chair, clasping his hands in his lap. Aizen places an elbow on the table and props his head against his hand, watching Ichigo with narrowed eyes. He almost squirms under the studying look before he manages to pull up the control his very first trainer had beaten into him and endure the examination.

"I think it's time we talk about your previous masters, Ichigo." He winces without thought and then almost does it again as he realizes the breach of another of the founding rules. _Always show respect to your master, former or present_.

"What would you like to know, Aizen-sama?" he asks softly, letting his eyes fall to the table.

"Let's start with rules. What did your last master enforce?"

Oh, too many rules to count. "Noitora-sama?" Aizen nods and he swallows, feeling his shoulders draw in a little at the memory of the brutal lord. "Obey all orders without question, don't speak or touch anything without permission, always refer and speak to him with respect. Never make eye contact unless ordered, always be ready to serve without hesitation." There were others, minor things, but those had been the worst.

"And your duties?"

He gives a small shrug, risking a glance up at Aizen. The older man's eyes are still narrowed, studying, but there's no anger or displeasure that he can see. "Whatever I was ordered to do, as well as keeping his rooms spotless."

Aizen makes a soft noise of understanding. "That would explain the random cleaning. Why your aversion to the table?"

He grits his teeth for a moment before speaking, carefully wiping all trace of anger from his tone. "My previous masters either had a separate table for the slaves or – more often – fed me on the ground, Aizen-sama. Eating at the same table as my master implies equality that isn't there."

Aizen sighs and this time he can't help flinching. "Look at me, Ichigo." He looks up and Aizen's eyes are soft and compassionate enough to make him inhale sharply in surprise. "We've gone over the whole questioning orders bit, so I won't repeat that, but let me clarify the rest." Aizen pulls his elbow off the table and leans back in his chair, one leg idly crossing over the other. "You are always welcome to speak to me, though I would prefer you not when I'm on the phone or in a meeting unless it is exceedingly important, you do not need to ask permission. You may touch anything you wish, though I will punish you for breaking or damaging anything of mine, keep that in mind. I will tell you if you aren't allowed to touch or read something, but for the most part those things will be locked up anyway."

"As to referring to me with respect, I appreciate it. However I will not punish you for forgetting that unless it is a repeat offence, and the punishment will be light. I actually prefer you look me in the eye, it will allow you to read my moods better and me to read yours as well. As we covered, unless you're doing something I ordered you're welcome to entertain yourself, if something irritates me I will tell you to stop. If, after I've told you to stop, you do it again, I will punish you. I don't expect you to clean anything unless I tell you to, that's what I have maids for. Finally, you will always eat at the same table as me unless I'm having a dinner with other lords. If that occurs, you'll eat either before or afterwards. Am I understood?"

He barely manages to nod, shock and relief heavy in his chest. "Yes, Aizen-sama… Thank you."

Aizen reaches over and strokes a very gentle hand across his cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you unless you earn it, Ichigo. The same rule goes for all of my servants, and ideally, it will soon go for all other masters as well."

He jerks slightly and Aizen gives him a knowing smirk. "I don't suppose you knew about that, did you? As soon as I finalize the draft I'm working on I'll be introducing new laws governing the ownership of slaves. It should make things much better, though I doubt I'll be too popular among the other lords."

He can't seem to breathe, the revelation freezing his lungs. Aizen is trying to better treatment of slaves? Why? He owns the _entire _market, what would policing it better possibly do for him? There's no possible reason he can see for the lord to do this. In fact it might make owning a slave less popular and in the end earn him _less _money, so why would Aizen not only get behind but actually _initiate _this change?

Oh god, and they're going to kill him before he can do it. Ichigo swallows, unable to break Aizen's gaze. What are they actually accomplishing here? Sure, it's quite the statement, but in the end all that will happen is someone else will take over the business and things will be just the way they were. But if Aizen lives then within – probably – weeks he'll be forcing through new laws that will, what exactly?

"What will the laws do?" he asks, and there's definitely more demand in the question than there should be for _any _slave who's been through as many masters as he has but he can't manage to curb it. Aizen doesn't seem to care, brown eyes deep and mildly amused.

"They'll institute a list of rules that slaves must follow, and specific physical punishment levels for breaking each one, along with limiting what a master can do to a slave under the name of 'punishment'. Masters must petition the lord's counsel to add specialty rules, approved by a majority, and those rules apply only to the specific slave they were requested for. In addition slaves will be able to testify at court cases, even against their own masters if required. It will also make it mandatory to have certain living conditions for a slave, including their own room and bed with a door that cannot be locked from either side."

The lord smirks and tilts his head slightly, eyes glittering at his expression. "What, Ichigo? Do you not believe me? I can pull out my rough draft if you like so you can read it."

Ichigo forces himself to shake his head and finally lower his eyes away from Aizen's all-too-knowing gaze. "No, Aizen-sama, I believe you."

It's probably a good thing that the food arrives right then, Il Forte sliding past a swinging door on the far side of the room and walking in with a plate in each hand. "Lunch, Aizen-sama, Ichigo-san."

Aizen's eyes turn away from him, rising to the blonde servant. "Thank you, Il Forte." The plates are set before them, the servant whipping out forks from _somewhere _and laying them next to each plate.

"Enjoy! I'd like to talk to you within a few days Ichigo-san so you can tell me what types of food you prefer, alright?"

He numbly nods and Il Forte leaves, Aizen immediately turning and giving a small smile. "Dig in, Ichigo."

He looks down at the plate – pasta of some kind with white sauce over it and bits of chicken – and reaches for the fork. It feels strange in his hand after his time with Noitora, sadistic bastard, and it takes him a few moments to remember exactly how to hold it but as soon as he gets it positioned right it all floods back. It had only been Noitora who had forbid him from using utensils, and he'd only been with that fucker for three or four months before he'd pulled the rest of the rebels in to kill him.

He eats in silence – and _damn _the food is good – with only occasional glances up at Aizen. Most of the times the lord is just as focused on his food as he is, but every once in awhile he'll look up and catch Aizen just watching him. The older man's eyes are always slightly narrowed, thoughtful and distant. That gaze weighs heavy on his shoulders even when he knows Aizen isn't looking at him, and he gets the impression that he's the only thing on the lord's mind.

Eventually Aizen sets down his fork and pushes away from the table, he almost flinches at the sudden noise. "Done, Ichigo?"

Actually, yes. Somehow, while he'd been distracted with Aizen and thoughts of Aizen, his entire plate of food had managed to disappear. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

The lord smirks and gets to his feet, Ichigo quickly follows him to standing and then out of the room. The dishes are left on the table, where he assumes Il Forte will pick them up once they've left. Aizen leads the way, with him staying two or three steps behind, back to the door of his room. He pauses at the door and turns back to Ichigo, eyes dark and serious.

"I'll be taking a shower, Ichigo. Keep out of trouble and don't leave the house, I'll find you when I'm done."

"You don't, want me with you, Aizen-sama?" he asks cautiously, hope flaring in his chest, and Aizen gives a quiet chuckle.

"Of course I do, Ichigo. How could anyone not?" The lord steps closer, reaching out to slide fingers around the back of his neck. He swallows thickly as Aizen presses him firmly but gently back against the wall, free hand slipping to his waist and toying with the edge of his black button-up shirt. The lord leans down and kisses him, pressing him hard against the wall and easily sliding a single knee between his legs. He can't help the low moan that slips from him as Aizen's hand slips under his shirt and he feels the older man smirk into the kiss, pressing a little harder. But the moment Aizen's hand slips down to his ass he flinches sharply, unpleasant memories of all his other masters rising to the front of his mind.

Aizen stills and then pulls back, releasing him and stepping away. "But I'm afraid the temptation would simply be too much for me, and you're not ready." Ready? No one has _ever _cared about him being ready or not, or even willing for that matter. It's the law, slaves have to obey. Aizen straightens his own shirt and then reaches out to straighten Ichigo's as well, smirking. "Unless you _are_ ready, in which case feel free to join me. However I have the suspicion that you're not. I should be done around one, I'll find you."

The lord slips into his room and the door shuts firmly behind him. He stares after Aizen for a few moments before stepping away from the wall, shaking his head. He might as well take advantage of the free time, he's supposed to contact Renji around now anyway.

He heads down the corridor towards where he knows – having memorized the layout of the building beforehand – Aizen's personal study is. Of all the phones in the house the one in there is least likely to be monitored or recorded, and he can't afford to be caught this late in the game. The house is surprisingly silent despite the fact that he knows Aizen has at least four other slaves and three legitimate servants-slash-staff. Add to that all the staff he must _not _know about and he should at least be able to hear someone. It makes him vaguely nervous and he can't help but slow his stride and look surreptitiously around as he reaches the door. It's not marked at all, but this _should _be it.

He tries the polished bronze knob, mildly surprised to find it unlocked, and steps inside the room. Filing cabinets made of some kind of dark wood are scattered around the room, framing a prominent desk made of some even darker wood. There's a computer and, just as he hoped, a landline phone sitting beside it. He moves inwards and listens carefully for a brief moment before picking up the phone. He carefully dials the number and raises the phone to his ear, it rings twice before abruptly going straight to voicemail.

"_Ichi, yer late and I'm coming by, see you soon."_ It clicks off, the robotic voice starting to inform him of the proper way to leave a voicemail, and he hangs up, biting back a curse.

Of course Renji would pick the far more dangerous way instead of just waiting for him to call. There's legitimate reason – theoretically – for Renji to stop by, since he's Kuchiki Byakuya's primary slave. Not that anyone knows the frigid, practically royal, lord is backing them. He's their biggest source of funding and silent support, but he'll drop them in a second if he's suspected of anything. Just because Renji _can _stop by doesn't mean he should. It's an enormous risk, and of course, the thick-headed bastard is doing it.

Well, he'd better go find the idiot.

He carefully replaces the phone and leaves the office, making his way back towards the entrance hall. Yeah, entrance hall, Aizen is absurdly wealthy. The manor is still strangely quiet and void of people, he doesn't hear a thing or see as much as a glimpse of anyone the whole way there. The main double door opens literally just as he enters the entrance hall, which is done all in white with wooden floors that are nearly black. Renji steps in, horribly out of place with his long red hair free around his shoulders, though his black butler uniform blends in nicely. Ichigo moves to intercept him, praying he won't say anything damning in front of the cameras he knows are scattered across the entire manor.

Luckily, Renji has a fraction more tact than that. "Hey, I'm here to see Lord Aizen, he here?"

Ichigo nods, bowing his head a little. "I'll inform Aizen-sama of your presence, sir…?"

"Abarai Renji, I've got a message from Lord Kuchiki."

He bows, hating the airs required to keep from betraying himself in front of the cameras. "I'll be right back, sir."

He leaves the room, heading back to Aizen's room and entering it. He can hear the shower from the adjoining bathroom and he winces but moves towards the noise. To keep up appearances he _has _to interrupt the lord.

He turns the knob and steps in, eyes falling automatically to the shower. There's no curtain, or door, so there's nothing to impede his view of Aizen. And what a view. The older man is completely naked, head under the spray and eyes closed, water streaming down his frame. Aizen's half-turned away, just enough that he can't see the lord's cock, but the ass he can see is firm and round. Ichigo has to swallow at the muscles on display, yards and yards of them, all defined and obviously powerful. Aizen's surprisingly built for being a wealthy lord, enough so that Ichigo can't help feeling a bit envious. Riches tend to make you lazy, but obviouslynot in this case. He wouldn't be surprised if Aizen could pin him with nothing but brute strength, and isn't _that _a nice mental image.

He's snapped out of his ogling by a deep chuckle, audible even over the spray of water. He jerks his gaze upwards and flushes as he meets Aizen's eyes, the amusement and traces of lust in the lord's look only making him flush harder.

"Enjoying the view, Ichigo?" He averts his gaze, cheeks burning, and hears Aizen step out of the shower. "Decide to join me after all?"

Ichigo can't help looking back and nearly melts into a puddle on the floor at the sight. If he'd thought the view before was nice, then this was heavenly. Seeing Aizen moving towards him, smirking and clearly predatory, his muscles moving smoothly beneath his pale skin – well, not pale but still fairly white as opposed to tanned – and trickles of water sliding down his still wet body. His cock swings between his legs as he walks, and even limp it's still impressive – he can only imagine what it would be like when erect.

He forces his eyes upwards as Aizen stops – _way _too close – and has to bite back a moan. Aizen's brown eyes are dark and slightly lidded, and his hair is nearly black with moisture and plastered to his skull. Regardless of the shit his other masters put him through Ichigo _cannot _deny that Aizen is absurdly handsome. If things were different, and Aizen and he were on even footing, he'd try for a night with the lord in a _second_.

He shivers when Aizen reaches out and slides his right hand around the back of his neck, leaning down and kissing him. He nearly just steps forward and lets the lord do whatever he likes, but instead manages – barely – to pull back a little and raise his right hand to press against Aizen's bare chest. Aizen lets him retreat the few inches, though his eyes silently demand an explanation.

He swallows thickly, both regretting and most certainly _not _regretting putting his hand on Aizen's chest. "There's an Abarai Renji with a message for you, Aizen-sama," he manages to breathe out, struggling to keep his hand exactly where it is and not let it slide down to explore the rest of Aizen's very distracting frame.

Aizen chuckles and he can't help but shudder, jaw clenching for a brief moment. "Is that right?" The lord's free hand comes forward and undoes the first button of his shirt. Ichigo inhales shakily when Aizen traces the tips of his fingers over the exposed skin at his collar, dark brown eyes still holding his gaze. "Did he ask for me?" Aizen asks softly, and he barely notices that the older man is undoing the next button of his shirt.

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

"Mmmm… Well then," the lord kisses him again, murmuring against his lips, "I suppose I should go meet with him, shouldn't I?" Aizen's head lowers and the older man presses a soft kiss to the side of his throat before sharply biting into the skin over the left side of his exposed collarbone. He gasps at the sudden pain, left hand flying forward to grip Aizen's side as he gives a small jerk. Aizen draws back and releases his neck, smirk firmly in place and eyes glittering with amusement.

"Escort Abarai to the parlor, would you?" Aizen says softly and Ichigo mutely nods, not trusting his voice. Aizen's smirk grows a fraction and he feels the lord refasten the buttons he'd undone, each stray brush of his fingers sending a tiny burst of warmth into his skin. "It's the first door on your right when you leave the foyer, you passed it on your way back. I'm assuming of course that you ran into Abarai in the foyer…"

"Yeah," he chokes out after a moment, recalling that foyer is just the fancy way to refer to an entrance hall.

Aizen smoothes out Ichigo's shirt with a few long – and unnecessarily slow – strokes, eyes dark and heated. "Come back here when you're done." He forces himself to nod and Aizen gives a lazy smile that curls up at one edge. "You might want to release me if you intend to leave at any point, Ichigo."

He jerks his hands away as if burned, backing up a step, and feels his flush return in full force. "I… I'll be right back," he stammers and quickly retreats, Aizen's laugh chasing him out of the bathroom.

Once the door is closed he slumps against the wall next to it, letting out a shuddering breath. Dear _god_. He's never had _anyone _play him as expertly as that or invoke that much of a response from him so easily. The setting had certainly made it easier – and god he can _still _feel traces of moisture on the back of his neck from Aizen's hand – but still. He's seen other people – male _and_ female – naked, wet, and obviously interested before but normally it still takes a good bit of cajoling to get him to be truly interested back. But Aizen…

He shudders and forces himself away from the wall and out of Aizen's room. He can't afford to waste time right now, he'll need all the time he can get to talk with Renji. He banishes all thoughts of arousal or Aizen's naked self from his mind – or tries to, with little success – and quickly makes his way back to the foyer. Renji looks up as he walks in from where he's leaning against the far wall, one eyebrow rising in question.

He inclines his head as the other man straightens up and moves with him. "Please come with me, Abarai-san."

Renji nods and walks over, following him as he backs out of the room. "So," the older man hisses through his teeth, "we still on for six?"

He leads the way down the corridor, going to the first door on the right – not more than twenty feet past the double doors that lead into the entrance hall. He pulls it open and steps aside to let the older man pass, stepping in after him and replying just as quietly, "I'm not sure it's a good idea, Renji."

Renji shoots him a mixed look of aggravation and confusion as he hisses, "Why the hell not? Does he know?"

He gives a miniscule shake of his head, glancing around the room for any cameras and – upon not finding any – closing the door. "I don't think so, but still…" Renji glares at him, moving further into the fairly small room and leaning back against one of the armchairs in the center of it. "I don't agree with his business, you _know _that, but I agree with his personal practices and I'm pretty sure he's trying to make those into law. I-"

"No!" Renji snaps, shoving off the armchair. "We've come too damn far, Ichigo! It'll all be fucking pointless if we stop now! But after this we can all go home, we can all relax for awhile!"

True enough.

He shoves down the doubts and swallows, meeting Renji's eyes. "Yeah, alright. I'll be back in a minute." He leaves before Renji can respond, trekking his way back down the corridors to Aizen's rooms, as he'd been ordered to do. The halls are still strangely silent and absent of people, and finally he starts to wonder why. The manor is big, enormous even, but not enough so that it should be muffling all noise from everyone in the house. The only theories that make sense are that the walls are soundproofed, Aizen's servants are absurdly quiet, or there's simply no one in the house. Wouldn't that be interesting, if Aizen just _happened _to not have any of his official staff here on the day they were planning to attack. What a coincidence.

He steps into Aizen's room, noting in the back of his mind – as he turns to close the door – that he can't hear the shower running. The second after that he realizes why. Aizen is coming back out of the walk-in closet beside his bed, black slacks lying low and unbuttoned across his hips – thankfully (or maybe not, he can't decide) with black underwear beneath – and a white dress shirt hanging open on his shoulders. The older man looks up at him as he stares, lips twitching upwards in the smirk he's becoming very familiar with.

"Welcome back." How, exactly, Aizen is capable of doing that _thing _with his voice where he manages to make everything sound rich and inviting, Ichigo doesn't know. "Abarai is waiting?"

He nods, cautiously moving closer to the lord. "Yes, Aizen-sama."

Aizen's hands move to the buttons on his shirt, doing them up, and a glint of devilish amusement enters his eyes. "Get my pants, would you, Ichigo?" He freezes for a brief moment before forcing himself to give a wordless nod, hating the flush that he can feel stealing into his cheeks. He stops before the lord, head ducking, and has to pause a moment to muster the courage to reach forward and zip up Aizen's slacks, popping the button through.

Why? Why is Aizen capable of turning him into a fucking teenage girl who blushes at any even vaguely sexual thing? For fuck's sake he's twenty-four, he's _long _past any hint of that stage. Besides, it's not like he's a virgin. Even if he had been when he'd started this whole terrible idea – which he most certainly wasn't since he'd been eighteen at the time – his previous masters had removed any _hint _of innocence he'd still had left.

Aizen simply should _not _be able to do this to him. But, he can.

Fuck.

"Why thank you, Ichigo…" Aizen all but purrs, and he has to repress a shudder as he steps away from the lord. "Let's go, shall we? Abarai – if I recall correctly – is not a very patient person." The amusement hasn't left the older man's eyes, Aizen knows damn well what he's doing.

He follows Aizen out the door and back down the corridor – and if he takes this route any more he's seriously going to memorize every aspect of it purely by accident – to the parlor, stepping forward as his first master had taught him – Soi Fon because they were sure she'd train him right – to open the door. Aizen gives him a nod of satisfaction, walks in, and he steps in behind the lord.

Renji stands from where he'd been sitting on the arm of one of the armchairs in the center of the room and gives a low bow. "Aizen-sama, thank you for seeing me despite the lack of notice."

Aizen strides into the center and takes a seat as he follows, moving to stand to the side and behind the lord. "Of course, Abarai. Now, I believe you have a message from your master, don't you?" He watches Renji give the tiniest of flinches, recalling that the older redhead despises being reminded of Byakuya's ownership of him and far superior rank. Must suck to have a lover that quite literally owns you.

"Yes, Aizen-sama. Kuchiki-sama is hosting a celebration of the younger Kuchiki-sama's birthday and sent me to extend an invitation." Rukia, and it is in fact pretty seriously convenient that her birthday provides an opportunity for Renji to come over. Byakuya's planning, no doubt.

Aizen raises an eyebrow. "A call would have sufficed. I'll attend, assuming it's not on a day I already have obligations. Send me the information and I'll inform your master of my answer."

That same tiny flinch before Renji bows, his hair falling loose around his face. "Understood, Aizen-sama. Thank you for receiving me." The redhead gives him a brief glance before moving to the door and leaving the room. The door closes with a soft click.

"Strange, isn't it?" Aizen asks softly, and Ichigo hesitates, unsure of what the lord is talking about. Aizen glances up and back at him and obviously notices his uncertainty, clarifying, "Abarai being Lord Kuchiki's slave. It doesn't make much sense given Kuchiki's personality, don't you think?"

He almost answers yes before realizing he's not actually supposed to know anything about Byakuya. According to his records, he's never even met the lord. "I wouldn't know, Aizen-sama. I've never met Lord Kuchiki, or Abarai-san before today."

Aizen makes a noncommittal noise and beckons him forward with a crook of his fingers. He obeys, rounding the chair to stand in front of the older man. "Closer, Ichigo. I promise not to bite you again unless you ask." Again with the flushing and the embarrassment, he's getting real tired of Aizen managing to make him react like this.

He steps forward and Aizen reaches out with both hands, taking hold of his wrists and tugging him down so he's sitting across Aizen's lap with his knees to either side of the lord's hips. Aizen guides Ichigo's captive hands to rest on the back of the armchair before releasing them and lowering his own hands. The lord watches him with dark eyes, hands moving to slowly caress his thighs. He shivers and Aizen's smirk grows by a fraction.

"Keep your hands there unless I say otherwise." He shivers, heat building at the dark promise in the lord's voice. Aizen's fingers slide beneath the edge of his shirt, feather-light against his skin. "Ask me to stop at any point and I will, and I expect you to actually use that right. I will not punish you for it in any way nor will I ignore you. I have never taken an unwilling partner and I never will, slave or not. Understand?"

He relaxes a fraction, letting his weight fully rest on Aizen's lap as he gives a slight sigh. "Thank you, Aizen-sama." The permission means more than Aizen could know – or maybe he does, the lord seems well-informed from what he's seen – given his other master's take on sex and his role in it.

Aizen's fingers pull away from his skin and up to his shirt, pushing each button through its paired hole. "It is admittedly a point of pride for me that I have never had to use my status to coax anyone to my bed, or whatever other surface or piece of furniture we may end up on. It would be a shame to break that streak, hm?"

He clenches his hands over the back of the armchair at the suggestion in the lord's voice, sharply inhaling as Aizen pops open the last button and traces fingertips across his abs, drawing nonsensical patterns up to his ribs. The lord smirks and leans towards him, pressing lips to the site of the earlier bite, which he's sure – though he hasn't looked – is a fairly red area if not bruised. Speaking of…

"Why did you bite me earlier, Aizen-sama?" he asks, and Aizen pauses for a brief moment and looks up at him. Not that he has to answer, or even acknowledge him really. Aizen is more than allowed to completely ignore his question, or bite him for no reason, or anything else he feels like doing. Instead, Aizen gives a soft hum and straightens, smirk growing.

"Honestly, the thought of you being in front of Abarai with my mark just beneath your clothes was too much of a temptation to resist," the lord murmurs and Ichigo can't help the groan that escapes him. Because god now that he thinks about it, it _is _a pretty damn arousing thought. Knowing that Renji could have found out at any moment, that a shift of clothes in the wrong direction or a glimpse of his skin could have betrayed the imprint of teeth. It would be humiliating if it actually happened, but up till it does it's just a thrill.

"Also I simply enjoyed your reaction, Ichigo. I'd love to see what _other _reactions I can pull from you in the course of this evening." He twitches under Aizen's still roaming hands, eyes flickering before the lord's hands slip down to the edge of his black pants and skillfully unfasten the button and zipper in a single movement. Aizen pauses for a brief moment – he assumes to give him time to call a halt if he wanted, which he _so _doesn't – and then slips a single hand beneath the waistband of his equally black boxers and wraps a hand around his dick. He arches at the contact and his hips buck forward as a quiet hiss slips between his teeth, though he keeps his hands clenched tightly on the back of the chair.

"Ah, there's a good one…" Aizen says softly, other hand slipping around to press against his low back. "But I think we can do better, hm?" The lord's hand twists around him, stroking in a slow but firm pace and he gives a low moan. His head lowers and his eyes squeeze shut, tiny shudders shaking his frame at the insistent pleasure of Aizen's hand.

He hasn't been touched in any way even resembling this in _years_. None of his previous masters had ever cared about his pleasure, only their own. He was a receptacle, a tool, and whether he was satisfied at the end or even enjoyed the procedure was irrelevant. But, of course, he wasn't allowed to touch himself either. It's been years since he got any legitimate pleasure out of anything, and it shows.

It's over almost embarrassingly quickly – minutes – as he jerks and gives a cry of pleasure, bowing forward against Aizen as he spills over the other man's hand. The lord makes a quiet sound of satisfaction, pressing gentle lips to the side of his throat. He twitches as Aizen pulls his hand back out and away from his dick, breathing harshly against the older man's shoulder, and slowly forces his hands to relax their grip on the back of the armchair.

"Much better," Aizen whispers in his ear, the lord's free hand still pressed against his back. He manages to pull through the fog of afterglow and lift his head, raising his eyes to meet Aizen's. The lord's gaze is dark with tightly controlled lust and intense focus, the trademark smirk absent for once.

"Thank you, Aizen-sama."

"Sousuke," his eyes widen in surprise and the smirk returns as the lord's eyes soften a fraction, "in this you are my partner, Ichigo, not my servant. So unless you prefer I behave as a master – which I am perfectly capable of doing – I will treat you as my equal here."

Every time Aizen speaks he finds his resolve being shaken, and it's nerve wracking. "I…" To his utter embarrassment he feels tears gather in his eyes, the sheer _concern _for his wellbeing and his choices hitting home with perfect accuracy. Aizen's eyes soften and the lord's hand slides away from his back and up to gently stroke through his hair.

"This will _always _be your choice, Ichigo."

That breaks him. The tears break free, sliding from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks as he stares at the lord, struggling to come to terms with everything the older man is offering. Even the other rebels, even _Renji_, who's supposed to be more or less his best friend, hasn't offered him the opportunity to make his own choices in a long time. For years he's been under everyone's thumb, forced this way and that and hurt if he steps out of line. But now Aizen, the man he's supposed to fucking _kill _tonight, is offering him complete freedom of choice in this, in the one thing that he'd thought for sure was going to be decided for him.

"You can let go, Ichigo," Aizen murmurs, and it takes him a moment to realize that the lord is talking about his arms. He releases the armchair, slowly lowering his arms in a sort of daze. He flinches a little as Aizen's hands come up and gently pull his shirt off, balling it and throwing it to the ground. He's still watching the older man, mind temporarily shut down, as the lord slides a soft hand around the back of his neck and tugs him down. He doesn't struggle, allowing Aizen to pull his head down to rest on the lord's shoulder. He closes his eyes against the white of Aizen's shirt and relaxes, letting his hands rise to grip loose handfuls of the shirt. Aizen's hand cards softly through the short hairs at the base of his skull, fingers light against his skin, and the lord's other arm curls around his back, holding him close.

Ichigo allows himself to float, making no effort to stop the tears and just relaxing in the knowledge that – for the moment – he's safe. There's something that he hasn't had in an even longer time. Being able to really, truly, relax. Not since his mother died and he'd become the true caretaker of the family, since god knows Isshin is totally useless as a father.

The fact that he's more relaxed here – kneeling shirtless in an armchair with a lord that literally owns him and that he's intending to kill before the day is over – than he'd been in his own home or in the bed of the one serious lover he'd taken before all of this started is sad. Sad, but true. He hasn't even superficially relaxed since this whole endeavor had started, not for more than a few brief moments in the slave cells while waiting for a new master to buy him anyway.

But through all of it he's never once cried, not even under Soi Fon's fists or Noitora's many tools of pain. Everyone expected him – the wonder kid who'd flown up the ranks – to handle this easily, to be strong and steadfast under the abuse and the slow destruction of his pride and self-respect. So he was. He took it all and didn't waver, let his masters beat him, humiliate him, tear him apart, and did his very best to hold together under it all. And maybe his head wasn't quite so high and his shoulders were a little bowed, but no one ever noticed.

It's freeing to be able to let the shame and pain he's been holding onto go, lifts weight he didn't know he was carrying from his shoulders. To finally let _someone _know how deeply all of this has affected him. Even if that person is Aizen.

The tears eventually stop, though he doesn't move for a good few minutes after that and Aizen doesn't make him. Finally he pulls back a little, pushing his hands flat against Aizen's chest to straighten himself up. The lord looks at him with unreadable brown eyes and he can't hold the gaze, dropping his own to rest on Aizen's chest.

"Thank you," he says softly, and he sees Aizen's lips quirk in an equally soft smile from the edge of his vision.

"I know others have hurt you, Ichigo, you don't ever have to hide that from me. I want you just as you are, wounds and faults and everything else, understand?"

He hesitates, doubt heavy in his mind that _anyone _could truly want him like he is. Shame follows quickly with the knowledge that Aizen doesn't actually know what he's like. He's deceiving the lord, pretending to be something he isn't, and doing it is starting to hurt.

He nods, not looking at the lord, and Aizen gives a soft sigh. "Come on, Ichigo, let's go back to my room." He backs off of the older man and stands, self-consciously refastening his pants as Aizen follows him up. He looks around for his shirt and – finding it on the ground – leans down to pick it up. "You won't want to wear that, it's not particularly clean anymore." He gives Aizen a slightly confused look and the lord smirks and waves his right hand, which is remarkably clean since he specifically remembers coming into it.

Oh…

He straightens back up without touching the shirt and Aizen moves towards the exit after giving a small chuckle. Ichigo follows the lord, trailing behind him as they retrace the by now _very _familiar route from the front of the house back to Aizen's bedroom. He can't stop looking around the whole way there, dreading the possible outcome of having the first person he sees in the house _all _day come across them _now_, while he's shirtless and still has red-rimmed eyes from crying.

When they get back to the room Aizen immediately sheds his shirt, tossing it carelessly on the ground, and proceeds to the bed. He follows with only a mild hesitation in his step which clears up when he recalls Aizen's promise that sex – or the lack of it – will always be his choice.

The lord beckons him closer and then tugs him down to the bed, stroking a gentle hand across his cheek and then through his hair. "Lie down on your side, Ichigo. Nothing you don't want, promise." He nods and obeys, silently enjoying the silk of the sheets against his skin. He's used to much rougher fabrics, and he's _never _been in contact with silk before.

Aizen follows him down, wrapping one arm over his shoulders to pull him closer and up against the lord. For a moment he's tense before the reality that Aizen won't hurt him kicks in and he eases into it, edging closer and curling into the older man. He closes his eyes as Aizen shifts around him, left arm rising to cushion the lord's head.

"Thank you," he repeats for what must be the third or fourth time in the last hour, and Aizen only gives a quiet chuckle.

"You're welcome, Ichigo. Of course."

He forces down the doubts that rise at Aizen's words, swallowing and reaching inwards for the determination he's so famous among the other rebels for. He's been through all these things, spent almost seven years of his life on this goal, and there's no way he can stop now. If he does it's all pointless, wasted time that he could have been with his family and friends and not stuck in servitude.

Just a few more hours, just until it's six and then it'll all be over.

That thought manages to calm him enough for him to drift to sleep, lulled by Aizen's heartbeat in his ear and the lord's steady breathing. But his first thought when he snaps back awake is panic.

How long has it been? Has the attack come and gone?

The bed is cold, Aizen missing, but when he pushes halfway up from the bed he can see the closed door of the bathroom and the light under it. A glance up at the clock suspended on the wall above the door to the walk-in closet calms the last of his panic.

Five fifty. He hasn't missed it, though any longer and he would have.

The door to the bathroom opens and Aizen enters, white shirt once more covering his chest. The lord looks up at him and gives a small smirk, brown eyes glittering. "Sleep well, Ichigo?"

"Yes, Aizen-sama," he replies, pushing himself up and adjusting to sit on the sheets with his legs folded beneath him.

"Good. I–" The ringing of a phone cuts the lord off and Aizen immediately reaches into the left pocket of his black slacks, retrieving a small cell phone. A touch of the screen cuts the ringing off and Aizen raises it to his ear. "Yes?" Aizen crosses the room to the walk-in closet and opens the door, stepping in. His voice is muffled but still understandable as he answers whoever has called. "Thank you, Ulquiorra. Let me know when things are handled."

The lord reemerges and Ichigo has a brief moment to note that Aizen is holding something decidedly not phone shaped in his right hand before a gunshot deafens him and blinding pain stabs into his right shoulder. He jerks in shock and his eyes widen, gaze falling to his shoulder where there's a fairly small black-edged hole that is beginning to trail blood down his arm. He takes in a shuddering breath, biting back the instinct to cry out in pain. It burns and stings and he grits his teeth against it, left hand falling to brace against the bed as he looks back up at Aizen.

The lord's eyes are cold, void of the warmth and amusement that had been present earlier. The gun in his right hand is held closer to his chest instead of stretched out and his mouth is a flat line. Ichigo realizes at that moment why exactly Aizen is both respected and feared as much as he is. The lord is clearly dangerous, deadly even, and _perfectly _capable of shooting him right here and now and finishing the job, regardless of any emotion he'd exhibited earlier.

"Your friends are here, Ichigo," Aizen says softly, tone smooth, "Apologies for the wound but I'd rather not risk allowing you even the attempt to kill me."

Despite the sickening shock that accompanies Aizen's words he also relaxes a bit, a breathless laugh escaping him. There's no point in pretending, Aizen obviously knows about their plan. "How long have you known?"

Something flickers in Aizen's eyes, gone before he can identify it, and the lord's lips quirk upwards in a tiny smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. "I picked up the pattern of your master's deaths a few years ago, but I didn't solidify your involvement in it until Noitora. He was killed with a knife, but every employee there that day said that the rebels who attacked were using guns. Your own wound from that day, completely surface though bloody, was from a gun. Sloppy of you."

Fuck. He'd hoped no one had picked up on that. He'd killed Noitora – gleefully he might add, sadistic bastard – before Renji and the others had gotten there, and before he knew that all they had with them were handguns. No one had seemed to notice anything and he was never asked to give a statement due to his status as a slave so he'd assumed they'd overlooked it.

"It's a shame, really. I genuinely like you, Ichigo, and I'm certain I'd like who you really are beneath your mask of subservience a good deal more."

He feels the blood reach his fingertips, undoubtedly soaking into the black sheets. "Who's Ulquiorra?" he asks, and Aizen's smirk grows a tiny bit.

"Head of my security team. As you've undoubtedly noticed the house has been very silent today, that's his doing. We knew you were planning to attack today, but not when until Abarai's visit. Thanks for that information, by the way."

He flinches, confusion hitting him hard. "There weren't any cameras in the parlor."

Aizen gives a slight shrug, the gun unwavering. "Actually, there are, they're simply not readily apparent on a glance. But the recorder I slipped on you when you interrupted my shower is what gave us the information, not the cameras. It's attached to the back of your pants, in case you were wondering."

Damn. "What are you going to do to them?"

The lord chuckles, amusement disrupting the cold surface of his eyes for a brief moment. "Relax, Ichigo. It wouldn't look exceedingly good if I slaughtered the rebels en masse, would it? Your friends will be tranquilized and shipped off to a prison where they will all stand trial for trespassing, illegal ownership of weapons, attempted murder, and the like. I'm sure I can negotiate a lighter sentence than death, though that is the general punishment for attempted murder of a lord."

His eyes close for a brief moment in a wince as he shivers, leaning a little more heavily on his hand. "And me?" He looks back up at Aizen as the lord makes a noncommittal noise, the lord's brown eyes narrowing slightly.

"That depends. I can kill you here, claim self-defense – which isn't necessarily untrue – and pin you as the mastermind of this plot instead of the true organizer. Or, if you no longer have the desire to kill me based on what you've learned today, I can claim a rebel shot you. My word is close to law at this point, no one will question it."

Is Aizen really offering him that? To what, be the lord's slave from here on out if he gives up his goal? Death isn't a great end to this, yeah, but he doesn't think he can stomach being Aizen's slave forever. The whole point of this was to be able to go back to his family at the end. He has this sneaking suspicion that Aizen isn't just going to let him go home.

"Go to hell, Aizen."

Aizen sighs and shakes his head slightly. "Disappointing."

The gun shot doesn't even register in his mind before everything goes black.

* * *

Thank you for reading, and sorry it's taken me so long. Life's been psychotic, but in a good way, and writing's been low on my priority list. I hope you all enjoyed, and it will be a significantly shorter time till the next chapter, promise! XD

Beta-ed by theultimatenerdgurl on FF, much love!


	3. Chapter 3

Waking this time is less painful.

His eyes flick open and he stares up at the ceiling, breathing hard. As he moves to roll over, he catches sight of the King still sitting on the chair of energy, golden eyes trained on him. A glance around the room proves it's empty apart from him and the King.

"Where's Aizen?" he asks, pushing himself to his knees and wincing slightly.

The King makes a vague gesture, leaning back. "He still has some more of that life to live. The story doesn't just end with that Ichigo's death."

Ichigo straightens up, getting to his feet and finally remembering what he'd realized just before getting yanked into that second universe. "You're me." The King smirks, raises an eyebrow, and he rushes to clarify. "You said only the people that were meant to _be_ the King _can _become it, and you don't seem like Aizen so… you must be me."

The King snorts and stands, his golden eyes bright with amusement. "Took you long enough. Aizen came to that conclusion almost instantaneously, but then we both know that he's more or less a genius." The light around the King dims, revealing his features.

He's older, taller, with long orange hair down his back and hard golden eyes. His clothes – an outfit quite similar to Aizen's Las Noches wear but without the overcoat – are plain and the top is tight against his chest, though the pants are loose. A closer look shows signs of the obvious experience this Ichigo has and the things he's been through. There's a thick scar across the right side of his throat, stretching a good three inches, another peeks out near the bottom of the v of his top, and even though this Ichigo practically radiates power, there's a certain exhaustion evident in the set of his shoulders.

"What happened to your Aizen?"

"You can't guess?" the King asks, eyes hardening. "I killed him, permanently. Cut his power out of him and erased his soul from my universe." He can't help flinching, eyes widening, and the King shrugs. "He deserved it. I fought him for the last time fifteen years after the start of the war, in the King's realm after he'd slaughtered Soul Society and turned Karakura into a gaping hole in the ground. He deserved to die, and more besides. It wasn't till after I'd killed him and taken the throne that I found out he was the other half of the King."

The King looks away, brow furrowed. "I missed the chance I had to save everyone in my world, but I can still reset it as if I hadn't, I can still create a universe where things go the right way."

He winces, but any reply he might have had is cut off by a swelling sense of power in the room. A moment later Aizen fades into existence on the ground beside them, completely still until his form completely solidifies, whereupon the traitor's eyes flick open. The brown eyes focus in on them almost instantaneously, and the older man stands, straightening up. There's a shadow in Aizen's eyes, but it's carefully shielded and almost unnoticeable.

"So what happened?" he asks, and Aizen gives a little smirk.

"He lived to a ripe old age and died peacefully in his sleep." The traitor's voice is heavy with sarcasm and Ichigo crosses his arms and scowls.

"Very fucking funny, Aizen."

Luckily the King intervenes before Aizen can respond. "He dies. Renji pretends to be sedated and puts a knife in his heart before being shipped off to prison. All the rebels, including Byakuya, are sentenced to death, which incites even more to their cause, and a civil war breaks out."

The stunned silence from both him and Aizen – and he never expected _Aizen_ to ever be lost for words – is worthy of the thought. An entire state, country, or maybe even world thrown into civil war on the death of two people, the idea is insane. Are they really _that _important?

"Something similar happens in each world that either one or both of you die in."

He glances at Aizen and finds the older man looking back at him, brown eyes narrowed. After a moment Aizen looks over at the King, gaze intense and searching.

"That world didn't have – as far as we were shown – shinigami or anything resembling them. There's no way the two of us from that world would have become the King in any way."

"You're right. There were no supernatural creatures or beings in that world, only humans. There was no spot for a God or King."

"Then what? Any universe without such a spot is doomed to fail?"

The King shakes his head. "No. If that Ichigo agreed to give up his intent to kill, then that world would have achieved the equivalent of a King. That Aizen was more or less ruler of the country, even if they were supposedly democratic, and with Ichigo at his side – and make no mistake it would be at his _side_, not behind him – the slave trade was eventually abolished and only legal – _paid _– servants remained. The world goes an entirely different way if you'd survived."

"So in a world _with _a spot for a King or God, it's necessary we both ascend to it. But in a world without one, it is only required we work and be together?"

The King hesitates for a moment before nodding. "It's more complicated than that, but in essence, yes."

Aizen makes a soft sound of thought, remains silent for a moment, and then continues. "On a side note, your jab was incorrect."

Ichigo can't help making a noise of confusion, watching the older man. "What're you talking about?"

The brown eyes glance at him before returning to the King. "That universe was based on human standards, and that Kurosaki was older. In this universe he is still a child, and I would _never _take advantage of that fact in a sexual sense."

Child?! To hell with that!

"I'm seventeen, you bastard!"

Aizen turns to look at him, and he nearly flinches at the irritation in the older man's gaze. "Exactly! You aren't even considered an adult by _human _standards, let alone by shinigami ones! Whatever burdens the other shinigami have foisted upon your shoulders are irrelevant. You are an idealistic child trying to fight a war you have _no _business being in, and the fact that the other shinigami have allowed and even encouraged you to do so is sickening. The only reason I didn't kill you on Soukyoku hill was that I knew you had no idea what you were getting into, and I was not cruel enough nor did I have the sufficient lack of morals to kill someone as young as you. If you had been older, you would have died then and there, instead of living and growing enough to be a threat."

He stares wordlessly at the shinigami, anger mixing deep in his stomach along with the knowledge that Aizen is _right_.

He realized a while ago that the idea of him being Soul Society's great savior was a little ridiculous. He doesn't have much idea of the age range of the shinigami, but he remembers Rukia's initial statement that she was much older than he was, and she seems pretty young in terms of shinigami. Even Hitsugaya, who doesn't _look _more than maybe ten, is old enough to already be a captain, and seems to have been one for awhile. Aging doesn't seem to be consistent among them, so visual appearances are more or less irrelevant, and he can only _guess _at how old Yamamoto has to be.

"I think that's enough. Don't you, Aizen?" The King's voice is quiet, dark, and when Ichigo glances over, the King's golden eyes are fixed on Aizen, a tiny frown creasing his brow. "In the end age, skill, and potential are all separate matters. Whether a person is seventeen or two hundred and thirty three, they _can _be equal."

Aizen flinches a little at the number, and he feels his stomach drop. _Two hundred? _Aizen is that old? No _wonder _the older man considers him young, he definitely is in comparison.

"I don't think I believe that, King. Age brings experience and wisdom, which will best the rashness and impulsiveness of youth four out of five times."

The King's chin raises a little and his eyes flash in challenge. "I'll prove it with our next stop then. Let's go, Aizen."

Before he can protest, speak, or so much as blink, the world fades to black.

* * *

"Kurosaki-sama?"

He lowers his hand from where he'd pressed it to his head when the white flash had momentarily blinded and disorientated him, turning to face the espada who'd been following him down the white corridor before the strange attack.

"Yes, Grimmjow?"

The blue-haired arrancar watches him, something that he can easily identify as _hunger _in the other man's gaze. "Feeling alright?"

His mouth curves in a smirk almost automatically, head lowering slightly, even as he keeps his golden eyes trained on the espada. "Just fine," he answers smoothly and steps closer, carefully watching for any hint of threat in the espada's body language, "and why do you ask? See an opportunity?"

Grimmjow answers his smirk with a grin, blue eyes narrowing slightly as they brighten with excitement. "Maybe. You looked a little dizzy there, my _King_."

His left hand flashes out, catching Grimmjow by the throat before the espada can react, and he slams the larger man up against the wall. His reiatsu swirls around him, and he feels his eyes start to bleed black as his hollow slides a little closer to the surface of his mind. Grimmjow gives a choking gasp, but his hands remain at his sides as Ichigo moves closer and presses his body up against the espada's.

"I'm always up for a challenge, Grimmjow. _Are _you challenging me?"

Grimmjow grins down at him and presses forwards against his hand, the espada's reiatsu rising in response to his own. It's rough and hot where their powers push against each other, intoxicating.

"_Always_."

His hand tightens minutely as he leans forward and bites sharply into Grimmjow's exposed chest, once again thanking whatever personality quirk made the espada pick a half jacket that covers almost nothing. It makes things _so _much easier, and he gets to look whenever he wants, without demanding the taller man remove his shirt, though he's totally going to give that order someday. Some time when he doesn't have anything to do all day and he can just get Grimmjow to strip down so he can watch the espada do… anything. It doesn't matter.

To be honest, that will probably last all of five minutes before he jumps the taller man, especially if Grimmjow tries to entice him – which he _will_, arrogant, sexy, bastard. He can never resist the espada, it's a proven fact.

Grimmjow's hands latch onto his coat, tugging in impatient demand, and he gives a snarl and leaves a second bite beside the bleeding imprint of the first before looking up at the espada with a grin.

"My rules, Grimmjow. And I'm not a big fan of sex in the corridor, your exhibitionist tendencies aside."

He releases the espada and steps back, watching Grimmjow raise a hand to rub at his throat. The way back to his rooms after these moments is always interesting. Grimmjow _knows _his effect, and takes every pleasure in getting him to give in and just fuck the espada in the hallway where anyone can – and usually does – wander by.

It's a hollow thing. Grimmjow is his official consort as King of Las Noches, and the espada likes to remind people of that. How better than to show off in public? Though he will totally admit that the three or four times Grimmjow has convinced him to fuck in the throne room it has been absolutely fantastic. _Especially _that one time the espada rode him _while _he was sitting in the throne.

"You know you love it, _King_."

His hollow whispers a suggestion in the back of his mind, and he answers Grimmjow's statement by smirking, flicking his eyes over the espada's form.

"Strip, Grimmjow."

The espada obeys after an absolutely _wicked _look, shrugging out of the half jacket and letting it fall forgotten to the floor before making equally quick work of the rest of his clothes. Once naked, Grimmjow starts to step forward, but stops immediately at the shake of Ichigo's head.

"On your knees."

Grimmjow's eyes flash with that same hungry look and he slides to the floor, cock heavy against his thigh. Impressive, and bigger than he is, but it doesn't really matter in the scheme of things. He reaches forward and threads his left hand through the espada's blue hair, tugging lightly. Without prompting, the espada's hands come forward and undo his sash and then his hakama, letting them drop to the floor around his ankles.

His cock – since his hollow convinced him a long time ago that going commando was _much _easier – springs free and Grimmjow leans forward, long tongue coming forward and swiping along his flesh. He stays still despite the burst of pleasure – a certain control over himself came with being with Grimmjow – and the espada's hands press against his thighs as he gives a tiny snarl.

Grimmjow grins up at him and then leans forward and wraps lips around the head of his cock, coaxing a small groan from him at the wet heat. Terrible pun or not, Grimmjow being the sexta is _far _too fitting. He hisses in a breath through his teeth as the espada pulls him farther into his mouth and then swallows and slides all the way to the base of his cock. He knows Grimmjow can feel the faint tremble of his thighs at the incredible pleasure, that he knows _exactly _what he's doing. Grimmjow has been his consort for nearly three years, but it only took him about two weeks – once he'd stopped being bitchy about not being allowed to top – to memorize exactly how to please him.

He can't help the moan that leaves his throat as Grimmjow starts to move, withdrawing to suck at the tip of his cock before shoving it deep into his throat. The tongue that knows _just _where to press and stroke is heavenly and the occasional – totally purposeful – graze of the espada's teeth only adds in a small thrill of danger that just makes it all better.

Grimmjow would never bite him, he knows that, but the teeth are just enough to put the idea in his head, and heighten all his instincts at the potential threat.

The espada hums around him and he gives a sharp cry, hips giving an involuntary thrust forward into the tight suction of Grimmjow's mouth. He closes his eyes, since he _knows _that if he continues looking at the espada this will all be over far too quickly. He's been at the receiving end of this too many times to think that he can hold together watching Grimmjow work, especially once the espada starts looking up at him with that particular look that always makes him want to throw the espada against the floor, table, bed, or any other nearby and mostly flat surface.

His eyes closing only encourages Grimmjow, as always, and he feels his orgasm start to build as the espada hums again and then slides forward till his nose presses against his crotch. The espada swallows around him and he shudders, so Grimmjow does it again. Flicking his eyes open to look at the espada only worsens it, watching the espada withdraw and then sink – slowly now because Grimmjow knows he's looking – down onto his cock inch by torturous inch. His right hand comes forward without him thinking about it, curling into Grimmjow's hair on the other side of the espada's head, and he tugs at the blue strands in warning.

Grimmjow somehow manages to portray a smirk _around _his cock – seriously, sexta is too fitting – and then hums deep in his throat and swallows at the same time, tongue stroking along his skin, and sending _way _too much pleasure to his mind.

He cries out, tightening his grip and dragging Grimmjow forward to keep his cock deep in the espada's throat as he comes. The espada doesn't miss a beat, swallowing repeatedly around him, and he shudders, moaning and leaning forward as his orgasm extends with the movements. He finally loosens his grip on the espada and Grimmjow pulls off him, sending a burst of leftover heat through his body at the sight of his cock slipping out of the espada's mouth.

Grimmjow grins up at him, blue eyes dark with lust. "You want me to redress you, King? Or are you gonna fuck me?"

He recalls the rest of his hollow's suggestion and smirks, letting his nails scratch lightly at the espada's scalp and watching the resulting shiver. "Redress me, thanks."

Grimmjow's grin drops into a flat line in irritation, the lust in his blue eyes being overtaken by the same anger. "Yes, _King_," the espada growls, grabbing the hakama around his ankles and carelessly dragging it up, tying it haphazardly before repeating the process with his sash.

He releases the espada and steps back, watching Grimmjow angrily snatch up his clothes, but he intervenes as the taller man starts to put on his half-jacket. "Drop it, Grimmjow." The espada looks up at him, confusion warring with curiosity and irritation. "Stand up and hand me your sash."

Grimmjow hesitates for a second before obeying, dropping all the clothes but his sash and standing. He takes Grimmjow's wrist in his left hand as the espada offers the sash and then takes the piece of cloth with his right. Curiosity overtakes the irritation in Grimmjow's gaze and Ichigo smirks, reaching out and capturing the espada's other hand as well. With several simple movements he ties the black sash around Grimmjow's wrists with a secure knot and then steps back, watching the confusion turn back to lust.

"Let's go, Grimmjow. Like I said, I'm not a fan of sex in the hallways."

Grimmjow grins, sharp canines showing for a moment. "Sure you aren't."

He snorts, though his smirk doesn't fade, and turns his back on the espada, moving down the hallway with the end of the sash held in his right hand. Grimmjow might enjoy being put out for everyone to look at, but Ichigo prefers – even though he knows he's damn fine looking – to keep his body to himself and whoever he decides to sleep with. Usually Grimmjow, but he's dabbled with Szayel and Halibel as well. And of course there was Aizen before Ichigo had left Soul Society, and left the captain of the fifth staring after him with betrayal in his darker brown eyes.

That had been remarkably satisfying. Everyone had assumed that he was just some Rukongai brat with too much power and little to no control over it. Proving them all wrong, proving that he was more than the worthless brat they'd thought he was, was amazing. The day he'd murdered Hitsugaya, used the captain's death as distraction to execute his coup, and then escaped with Gin following him had been the sweetest moment he's ever had. Especially when Aizen had realized.

The shock and betrayal in brown eyes when Aizen had found him standing over Hinamori's corpse – their third seat – and then the realization when Gin had struck had been better than any love the captain had ever tried to show him. Gin had dragged the captain of the fifth's arms behind his back and held them there, safely away from Kyouka Suigetsu, as he approached. He hadn't killed Aizen, but he had left the captain a deep wound across his stomach to keep him down and out of the way. Unohana had healed him later, and Aizen is a thorn in his side even today, but it's worth it. He's more than powerful enough to match Aizen's skill, and he loves toying with the captain.

After all, Aizen had never considered him very capable. The captain had assumed that he was the typical Rukongai brat – powerful but not very intelligent, and _certainly _not capable of going any higher than a vice-captain's role – and had treated him like it. He'd had plans to turn against Soul Society for a long time, ever since he'd found out that the hougyoku – Urahara Kisuke's wayward invention – had been implanted in his soul, and he had a rather insistent and _very_ illegal hollow side as a result of that, but Aizen had only solidified those plans. _Especially _after the captain had approached him for a relationship, though that word really belongs in quotation marks.

It couldn't be public, since relationships between high ranking shinigami were restricted, which meant it came down to Aizen asking to fuck him. And he agreed, because why not have some fun before he left? It was after that he realized that apparently he was good enough for Aizen to fuck, and to be trusted with the rank of vice-captain, but not good enough to be taught how to control his power. He wasn't good enough in his own captain and – supposedly – lover's eyes to be worth training, even though it was a well-known fact that he had a good amount of power. Aizen only ever saw him as one of the unfortunate Rukongai kids, and that was driven home with all the force of one of Zaraki'spunches when Aizen introduced him to Gin and expected them to be perfectly alright with the idea of a threesome.

For the sake of his image he'd agreed, and in doing so had met one of his most trusted lieutenants. In Gin he found a fellow Rukongai brat that had been more or less raised by Aizen, and had eventually – far past when he rightfully _should _have – become a captain completely on his own.

It had been Gin who taught him to control his power, taught him the finer aspects of kidou, taught him all the dirty tricks of fighting and sat with him and helped him control his hollow. Gin didn't – doesn't – have one, he isn't a vizard, but he knew enough to help.

By the time they'd escaped here he knew the basics of how to use the hougyoku hidden in his soul, and he used that knowledge – combined with his massive store of raw power – to fill in the ranks of the espada. Stark had already been here, though he wasn't officially a part of any kind of command structure, and Baraggan had reluctantly – read, at the point of his sword – stepped down as King and given him the throne.

In Las Noches both Gin and he had found a home. The arrancar didn't care where you were from or what you'd done in your past; they only cared about power and freedom. He's strongest, so he's King, and the espada bend to his rule. Grimmjow is the most loyal of his subjects, for obvious reasons, but Stark and Ulquiorra come in as second and third with only a narrow margin.

For the most part, the entirety of Las Noches is pretty damn loyal to him, if only for his practices. He knows what it's like to be discriminated against, as does Gin, so they treat the arrancar just like any other shinigami or human. It also probably helps that he's technically not much different than them.

"So, you in a bondage kinda mood then?"

He looks back at Grimmjow, who's walking after him with a giant grin and narrowed blue eyes.

"Haven't decided yet," he answers truthfully, returning the grin.

"Whatever you want, King. You know I'm good with anything." The espada pauses, grin drooping a little, and then corrects, "Almost anything."

He can't help snorting, recalling the night that Grimmjow is referencing. The espada is not fond of water, due to quirks of hollow instincts, and had not much appreciated that particular dominance game. Which Grimmjow had made clear by hissing and cursing and clawing some pretty big slices into Ichigo's arms.

"Yeah, yeah. No more hoses, I remember."

He turns his head and notes with pleasure that they're only two or three minutes away from his rooms. Which, as King of Las Noches, are pretty damn comfortable. Better than Grimmjow's, at any rate, even though the espada's quarters aren't bad either. Honestly though, Grimmjow practically lives in his rooms; the espada claims it makes things easier. True enough.

"Shouldn't have done it in the first place."

His hollow stirs at the irritated tone and he gives a small snarl as he glances back at Grimmjow, warning him not to push the issue. "Keep bitching and I'll make you pay for it, Grimmjow. You know I will."

The espada grins back at him. "That's half the fun, _King_."

He snorts again and pulls Grimmjow up with a harsh tug on the sash as they reach the doors to his room. The espada moves to open it without prompting, shoving it open with his hip once he's turned the knob, and beckons him with his bound hands as he backs into the room. He smirks and follows, letting the door fall closed behind them as he follows the espada into the room, letting the sash hang loose between them. Grimmjow has other ideas, taking the sash in his hands and reeling him closer. He goes along with it, letting the taller man pull him closer, and reaches up once he's close enough to wind his left hand around the back of Grimmjow's neck and tug him down.

He kisses the espada, though as usual with them it's more a clash of tongue and teeth then any kind of proper kiss, and gives a tiny shiver at tasting a faint trace of his own release. Earlier orgasm or not, he's ready to go again. In the scale of 'things that are arousing,' knowing that someone else has swallowed down his release is pretty high up there. Especially Grimmjow, since he knows the espada does it gladly and thoroughly enjoys making him lose control like that. In fact, Grimmjow has admitted to him that it's really a tossup whether he prefers swallowing Ichigo's cum or having him release it over his face and chest. That particular admission had gotten him jumped on in a fit of hair trigger arousal, and the fact can still make him hard just from thinking about it.

Grimmjow's bound hands drop and palm the front of his hakama, stroking his cock through the fabric, and he gives a low growl into the kiss to warn the other off. He's already had his orgasm, and both his hollow instincts and his own morals demand that he please Grimmjow in return. Dominant – in his mind – doesn't mean he gets to sit back and make Grimmjow do all the work, it means that he's responsible for making sure the espada is satisfied, even above his own satisfaction. Though he could probably be satisfied just jacking off after driving Grimmjow into exhaustion, it's that nice to watch the taller man lose his mind.

"On the bed," he snarls against Grimmjow's mouth as he reaches down and unties the knot holding the espada's hands together. The sash falls to the ground and Grimmjow grins, stepping back and giving him a final look of excited lust before turning to walk to the bedroom. He follows, watching Grimmjow's ass as the espada moves ahead of him.

Grimmjow moves to the bed – large, soft, and covered in black sheets – and slides onto it on his back. He moves to stand above the espada, eyes darting over the flesh on display, and smirks. He crawls over the taller man, shedding his overcoat with a shrug of his shoulders and throwing it to the ground next to the bed. He does the same with the skintight white shirt beneath it, pulling it over his head and then discarding it.

He's just leaning down, moving to set his teeth against Grimmjow's throat, when his senses go off in warning. He stiffens and feels Grimmjow do the same, closing his eyes so he can focus in on the tear in space that's just opened outside Las Noches and, specifically, the reiatsu signatures coming out of it.

Kuchiki, Tousen, and – of _course _– Aizen. There are two vice-captains with them that he identifies as Isane and Hisagi, but they barely register next to the three captains.

Grimmjow growls in irritation and he almost echoes the espada as he reopens his eyes and straightens up. "Fucking bastards. Worst _fucking _timing."

He grunts in agreement and shoves off the bed, moving to retrieve his clothes from the floor and slip them back on. While he does agree with Grimmjow, excitement is also bright in his chest. Aizen is always fun to mess with, and he can't help relishing each chance he gets to prove to the older man that he'd been vastly underestimated. When he looks up, he catches Grimmjow watching him with clear irritation in his gaze, lying on his side and making no move to stand.

"What?" he asks, and Grimmjow's eyes narrow a little further.

"Aizen," the espada says bluntly, "every time he shows up you run off to fight him. Stark could handle him _just _fine. Or you could just fucking _kill _him, you're strong enough to beat him into the ground if you really wanted to."

He doesn't immediately answer, the accusation hitting home, and Grimmjow slides to his feet with mouthwatering grace. "I get playing with a victim. Whatever, it's fun. But this is deeper than that, and it's fucking irritating! _I'm _your consort, not that bastard."

It clicks with stunning clarity. Grimmjow is jealous. Rightfully so, he supposes, he _does _keep dropping the espada whenever Aizen shows up. "It isn't like that, Grimmjow, it's just proving I'm more than he thought I was."

Grimmjow snorts and looks away, stalking to the closet and angrily yanking a spare set of his uniform out of it. "Whatever."

He watches the espada for a moment before an _idea _takes hold that makes his hollow laugh in amusement. "Grimmjow, do you want to fuck him?" The espada freezes for a moment and then looks back at him, eyes wide.

It actually works much better than it sounds. For humans – or shinigami – it would just be some kind of threesome, but it's different for hollows. Grimmjow had more or less accused him, as his consort, of preferring someone else to him. By offering the espada the chance to top the person Grimmjow is accusing him of liking better, he's reinforcing Grimmjow's position in his priorities. Plus he gets to watch the two men he's ever been most attracted to, which is just a giant bonus.

Grimmjow's mouth slowly curves into a grin. "You mean that, King?" He nods and Grimmjow laughs, eyes bright with amusement. "Then fuck yes."

He returns the grin and moves to the corner of the room where both Grimmjow's and his swords are leaning – they'd left them there for a meeting – and picks Zangetsu up, hooking it over his back. "Then go to Szayel, he's been making a power restraint powerful enough for Aizen, and then give it to Gin. We'll make sure to get him with it." He flashes a smirk at the espada as he approaches the door, enjoying the flex of muscle in the still mostly naked espada. "Meet you back here, Grimmjow."

He turns and leaves, Ulquiorra and Gin are waiting outside. The former is his normal silent self, but Gin is nearly vibrating with excitement, though the only visible effect of it is the way his fingers are flickering against the outside of his thighs. Ulquiorra bows and Gin gives a mocking little tilt of his head.

"Wha's the call, Ichi?" Gin is the only person who gets away with calling him that, ever.

He smirks and glances in the direction of the slowly approaching group of shinigami. "Gin. You, me and Stark go in first. I'll drive Aizen one direction, you drive Kuchiki the opposite, and Stark will occupy Tousen. Once we have them separated, Ulquiorra, I want you to take care of Kuchiki to free up Gin. Gin, if you can, try and kill off Tousen and then come join me. Grimmjow will find you and give you the power restraint Szayel's been making, if you haven't finished Tousen by then, leave him to Stark. We'll kill the other two and catch Aizen, sound good?"

Ulquiorra nods and Gin snickers, his ice blue eyes slitting open. "Still want t' play with dear Aizen, Ichi?"

He shrugs and grins. "Can't help it. Ulquiorra, get Noitora to take care of the vice-captains, and call Halibel if you need any help with Kuchiki. I don't want my espada dying for pride's sake, understand?"

"Yes, Kurosaki-sama."

"Good, let's go."

He sets off with shunpo, Gin at his heels, and feels Ulquiorra break off to track down and gather the espada he'd named. Distantly, he feels the shinigami pause, obviously sensing their movement, and has to grin. It's not the first time the shinigami have tried to invade Las Noches, though usually it's him conducting raids on Soul Society that has them fighting, but it's the first time that they haven't brought either Kyouraku or Ukitake. Now _they're _a challenge, especially together. The one time he'd fought them both at the same time was the closest he'd ever come to dying, and it was on the very first raid he'd ever pushed into Soul Society. They work together with _amazing _precision and synchronization, centuries of experience making them a team that is absolutely terrifying on the battlefield, and it had very nearly killed him before Gin had joined the fight and they'd beaten a hasty retreat back to Las Noches. He's probably powerful enough now to fight them, but he still won't ever do it without backup.

He skids to a stop, after four or five minutes travel, on the sands outside Las Noches, and Gin stops besides him. He can feel Stark traversing Las Noches to get to them, and Ulquiorra is just approaching Noitora and Halibel.

"So Ichi, what're ya gonna do with Aizen once ya got 'im?"

He gives a little shrug and looks over at the ex-captain. "Grimmjow's a little jealous, so I promised him the chance to fuck him. You want second go?"

Gin laughs and shakes his head a little. "Yer a cruel bastard, ya know tha'?"

The amusement that swells with the accusation is almost immediately tempered with sharp bitterness, memories rising of Aizen's casual invitation to a threesome and the way he'd just _assumed _that since they were Rukongai brats they'd have no issue with it.

"He deserves it, Gin. You know that as well as I do."

Gin's grin wavers and the older man gives a little snort, looking back out at the sands. "Yeah, 'e does. Sure, a'll take secon' go. Any rules?"

"Don't kill him," he answers as Stark blurs into sight at the edge of his vision, "when this is all over _I _want to be the one who kills him." Gin gives him a tiny salute and he turns to Stark, eyes passing over Lilinette, standing just behind the espada. "Understand what we're doing, Stark?"

The espada nods and stifles a yawn behind his hand as Lilinette bounces forwards, hands on her hips. "Yeah! We're going to kick that blind shinigami's ass!" She pauses and then bows her head a little, a flush covering her cheeks. "King."

He gives a small smirk and nods, lifting his gaze to Stark. "I don't have to tell you to protect her." The espada shakes his head, grey eyes serious, and they both ignore Lilinette's outraged shrieks as she protests that she doesn't _need _protecting. "Good. Kill him quickly, watch out for his bankai. Let's go."

He turns and takes off, his two lieutenants – and Lilinette – at his heels, and zeros in on the group of shinigami, drawing Zangetsu from across his back. They've stopped where they are, undoubtedly sensing them approaching, and with a careful sweep of his senses he notices that the shinigami are arranged just _perfectly _for their plan. Aizen to the left, Kuchiki to the right, and Tousen in the center with the vice-captains behind them. How nice of them.

He shares a quick glance with Gin as the ex-captain pulls up next to him and grins, one final step taking him into the center of the shinigami's group as he turns. Gin and Stark land almost simultaneously, and time seems to slow for a single instant as his legs bend against the sand and he twists to face Aizen. It slips back to normal as he leaps at the captain, Zangetsu flashing out to drive him backwards. He hears metal clash behind him and feels Gin push Kuchiki backwards, the ex-captain's fighting style _far _too close for the noble to cope.

He focuses in on Aizen, slipping around and inside his guard and relishing the icy anger in the captain of the fifth's brown eyes. Aizen tries to get around him, back to his fellow captains, but he easily blocks off the older man with a few well-placed ceros. He forces Aizen back across the sand, smirking in victory as he feels Ulquiorra and Halibel join Gin's fight. The noble falls almost instantaneously, reiatsu dropping to nothing, and Gin takes off towards Tousen.

Worry flashes in Aizen's eyes and the captain stills, sword at his side and staring across the six or seven feet separating them. He humors the captain, Zangetsu's tip touching the sand, and watches the older man. Aizen winces as Tousen runs and the feel of a gate being opened echoes across the sands.

"I don't suppose you'll allow me to leave, will you Kurosaki?"

He snorts, feeling Tousen enter the gate with the two vice-captains entering just after. A second after, he feels Grimmjow settle next to Gin, both them and Stark sitting in front of the opened gate. "You can try. But I gotta say, the chances of you getting past me, Gin, Stark, and Grimmjow before that gate closes are pretty much nonexistent."

"True enough," the captain murmurs, brown eyes narrowed. A fraction of a second later, Aizen launches forwards and he reacts automatically.

He leans to the right as he brings Zangetsu up, recognizing desperation in Aizen's tactic. Kyouka Suigetsu leaves a long scratch along the side of his throat as Zangetsu slides deep into Aizen's shoulder. He shoves forward and buries Zangetsu in the sand, pinning the captain against the ground on his back, immediately putting a foot on the captain's right wrist to keep it and the sword it's holding immobile.

The gate slams shut and Gin moves towards them as the espada head back to Las Noches. Aizen glares up at him, brown hair lying in his eyes. "So now what, Kurosaki?"

He smirks, glancing over at Gin as the ex-captain slips into view. There's a splash of blood across the cloth of his right sleeve but the lack of a tear declares that it isn't his. "We get to have some fun. Gin?"

The taller man's grin twitches upwards and Gin approaches, leaning over and obscuring his vision for a moment. There's a metallic click and then Aizen cries out in pain, his reiatsu abruptly vanishing. It's almost a shame, he's always enjoyed feeling the smooth silk of the captain's reiatsu against his own, but it's necessary. Grimmjow is powerful, but not enough to handle Aizen without a handicap. Kyouka Suigetsu vanishes, and as Gin straightens up he gets to see the black power restraint circling Aizen's throat. He yanks Zangetsu back out of the ground and Aizen's shoulder and the captain pales, muscles in his neck and jaw straining.

"Le' me know when yer done, Ichi." Gin all but purrs as he turns to leave, and then steps out of sight with shunpo.

He sheathes Zangetsu across his back and leans down, gripping the collar of Aizen's uniform and dragging the captain to his feet. "Let's go, Sousuke."

The captain glares at him, straightening and making no move to try and make him let go. "I would prefer you not use my first name," Aizen grinds out stiffly, and he smirks.

"I know; it's why I do."

He takes off with shunpo before the captain can respond, dragging Aizen behind him as he makes his way back to his rooms. He can feel Grimmjow waiting there, and arousal strikes him hard at the idea of what's about to happen. He skids to a stop in front of the door and it opens within a few seconds, Grimmjow standing there in his uniform.

The espada grins and steps back, allowing him to walk in with the collar of Aizen's uniform still clenched in his hand to pull the captain with him. The door clicks shut behind them and he releases the captain, turning to face both Aizen and Grimmjow. The captain is clearly wary, brown eyes narrowed and blood staining almost his entire right side where it's leaked from his wound. On the contrary, Grimmjow looks almost ecstatic, grin wide and blue eyes bright.

"He's all yours, Grimmjow."

Aizen's eyes widen for a moment, flashing to the espada, and Grimmjow's eyes narrow as he stares the captain down. "Please tell me you're gonna fight me, Aizen."

The captain hesitates, shooting him a glance. "I suppose that depends on what is going to occur."

Grimmjow lashes out, wrapping his left hand around Aizen's throat and his right taking a fistful of the captain's gi, forcing Aizen to his knees. Grimmjow leans down, hand tightening a fraction around the captain's neck and even from several feet away Ichigo can hear the hitch of breath.

"I'm gonna fuck you. Rough, repeatedly, until you fucking _beg _me to stop. You gonna fight me, captain?"

There's a moment of silence before Aizen relaxes, lips twisting in a tight smirk. "No. What chance would I have?"

Grimmjow laughs and releases the captain, stepping back. "You know," the espada comments, looking over at Ichigo, "I can't decide whether that's better or not." He looks back over at Aizen, who's watching him with a wary acceptance. "Bedroom's through that door," he nods at the door and Aizen's eyes flick towards it, "strip and get on your hands and knees on the bed."

He can't help the arousal that builds in his gut as Aizen obeys, shrugging carefully out of his captain's coat and gi before undoing the straps for and stepping out of his hakama, socks, and shoes. There's a moment where Aizen stands tall and Grimmjow sweeps his gaze over the captain's body – which is _quite _nice, no argument possible – before Aizen turns and strides towards the mentioned door. As the captain disappears Ichigo breathes out a shaky breath, the reality of this crashing down.

He looks over at Grimmjow, who returns his gaze. "When this is done, I'm fucking you into the ground. Just so you know."

Grimmjow laughs and moves towards the door, dropping his half jacket to the ground on the way. He pauses for a moment, collecting himself, before following. Aizen, as ordered, is on his hands and knees on the bed and Grimmjow is kneeling behind him, hands on the captain's hips. He has to freeze for a moment at the image before continuing across the room. He climbs onto the bed beside the two and stretches out, resting his head on one of the pillows at the head of the bed and looking down at the other two men. Aizen watches him, eyes holding some measure of acceptance mixed with a sharp anger.

Whatever, Aizen more than had his chance.

"Will you be joining us, Kurosaki?" the captain asks tightly, and he smirks.

"Why? Miss me, Sousuke?" He glances up at Grimmjow, who's watching him with narrowed eyes, and then shakes his head. "No, I won't. Not unless Grimmjow wants me to. I promised him this, I won't interfere."

Grimmjow grins over the captain's shoulder and his right hand slips off the captain's hip. He can't see, but he assumes by Aizen's sharply drawn in breath and the stiffening of the captain's muscles that Grimmjow has slipped fingers inside him. A few moments later there's a shuffle of fabric and he sees Grimmjow's hakama drop, the espada's hand returning to Aizen's hip.

Aizen gives a sharp cry of pain, head bowing, as Grimmjow snaps his hips forward. The espada groans and leans forwards over the brunette's back, biting hard into the top of his shoulder. He has to stop himself from pushing off the bed and putting a mirrored bite on the captain's other shoulder, claiming him in tandem with Grimmjow. He can't help hissing out a breath between his teeth though, left hand curling into the sheets to restrain himself.

Grimmjow looks up, blood staining his teeth and lips, and does something with his hips that makes Aizen shudder and slam his eyes shut, teeth baring in a grimace. Grimmjow straightens up and he watches the taller man set up a rhythm, withdrawing and then slamming deep inside the captain. True to the espada's word it's rough, rougher than Ichigo's _ever _taken Grimmjow, but Aizen is silent under the onslaught. Pain is clear in the furrow of his brow and the tenseness of his shoulders and neck, but no sound escapes the captain.

In spite of his desire to see Aizen pay, he can't help respecting the older man. He doesn't think he'd be able to maintain the same level of control that Aizen is exhibiting, especially not with the large wound through his shoulder. It's still bleeding, slowly, dripping the red fluid onto his sheets and mixing with the blood beading on the bite wound from Grimmjow and the blood – which he can just barely see from this angle – sliding down the captain's thighs.

Aizen's left hand curls into the sheets, head lowered, and Ichigo raises his gaze to Grimmjow. The espada's head is thrown back, fingers and sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave red crescents on the captain's hips. He swallows thickly, watching the muscles work and flex under Grimmjow's skin as the espada speeds his thrusts. Grimmjow finally shudders and gives a few irregular movements before pushing in deep and leaning back down over Aizen as he snarls out his release and bites into the back of the captain's neck.

Aizen flinches and hisses out a breath, a shudder wracking his frame. Grimmjow gives a deep groan and pushes himself up, releasing the captain and shoving him flat against the bed with a powerful push. Aizen breathes deeply next to him, eyes sliding open and head twisting to look back at Grimmjow. The captain is still wary, and obviously in pain, but not scared. Grimmjow flashes the captain a grin, crawling up the bed and plopping himself down between Aizen and Ichigo with his arms crossed under his head.

"How about you clean me up, _captain_?" he drawls, and Aizen stiffens a fraction. There's clear disgust in his eyes but he pushes himself up regardless, relocating himself between the espada's legs.

He has a brief moment of wondering if Grimmjow's lost his mind, since Aizen is most certainly not friendly, and it takes a certain amount of insanity to shove your dick in someone's mouth if there's a chance they'll bite it off. But just after that he relaxes again, watching Aizen put his left hand on Grimmjow's hip as he leans down, tongue sliding out to stroke along the mostly limp penis smeared with blood and traces of seed. Arrancar skin, but especially the espada's because of their power level, is exceedingly tough thanks to their hierro. Without his reiatsu, Aizen has about as much chance of biting through it or so much as _scratching _it as he does going toe to toe with Zaraki and coming out completely unscathed.

Grimmjow reaches down with his right hand and curls it through Aizen's brown hair, tugging at it. "Come on, bastard." Aizen shoots Grimmjow a nasty look but takes the espada's dick in his mouth, eyes closing as he sucks against it.

He swallows again, never having even _imagined _Aizen in a position like he is now, and catches Grimmjow watching him. The espada grins and then reaches over with his left hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck, and drags him closer. He kisses the espada, sliding his own left hand to press the espada's shoulder into the bed, and gives a quiet growl at the demanding hold on his neck. He breaks off the contact, nipping at Grimmjow's lower lip, and then lowers his head and bites sharply into the side of the espada's throat. Grimmjow moans and jerks a little, prompting a slightly choked noise from Aizen, and he pulls back, licking the slight traces of blood off his teeth.

Grimmjow releases him and moves that hand down to join his other one in Aizen's hair, giving a small grin before bucking his hips up into the captain's mouth. He moves away, back to his position against the bed, and watches Grimmjow fuck the captain's mouth. Aizen, to his credit, takes it without much complaint, only a firm press of his left hand against the espada's hip and the stiffness of his shoulders voicing his displeasure.

He watches with heat as Grimmjow arches his neck back – barely resisting the urge to lay another bite on the exposed flesh – and uses Aizen's lips and throat for his own satisfaction, sounds of pleasure slipping from the espada's mouth. It's an amazingly arousing spectacle seeing Aizen, who had never so much as hinted at letting him top at any point, being forced into a submissive role. He's almost saddened he hadn't brought Gin along, he's sure the ex-captain – one of Aizen's previous Rukongai toys – would have enjoyed the sight just as much.

Grimmjow eventually gives a breathless laugh and tightens his grip in Aizen's hair. "Swallow or choke, fucker." Aizen's eyes snap open, refusal clear in his gaze, but Grimmjow drags him down and forces his cock into the captain's mouth to the base, holding him there as he arches and gives a long drawn-out moan.

He shudders, watching Aizen's throat work as the captain obviously decides he'd rather breathe, and can't help the groan of denied pleasure that leaves his throat. Grimmjow looks over at the noise and grins at him, probably because he's pretty damn sure that the lust he's feeling is clear in his eyes. The espada releases Aizen and the captain backs off, irritation clear in his eyes though he wisely doesn't say anything.

Aizen wipes a hand over his mouth and Grimmjow laughs, returning his hands to beneath his head. "Enjoy the taste, _captain?_"

Aizen opens his mouth and then snaps it shut again, and Ichigo can't help but snort. "Finally learned to keep your speeches to yourself, huh? There's a change."

The captain glares at him, eyes narrowed. "What have I done to deserve your hatred, Kurosaki?"

He stiffens for a moment, aware of Grimmjow watching him with curiosity out of the corner of his eyes. He pushes up to sitting, moving to sit cross legged, and stares the captain down. "The fact you don't know is what makes it hatred rather than dislike, Sousuke. That you honestly can't understand the way you treated me," his hands clench and he feels Grimmjow shift closer and sit up, looking over his shoulder, "I decided I hated you when you introduced me to Gin and then expected the both of us, since we were both from Rukongai and naturally that meant we were loose and cheap, to be completely alright with a threesome. We knew each other for three fucking minutes before you asked and didn't even _consider _that we might not like the idea.

"Apparently I was good enough for you to fuck and good enough to apparently '_love,'_ but not enough for you to, I don't know, train me? You knew damn well I had more power than I knew what to do with and not enough control over it, but you just fucking left me to figure it out on my own! You assumed that I was too much of a Rukongai brat to ever want to be able to do anything but hack and slash at something until it died, that I wouldn't ever want to know control or kidou or any of those other useful things."

He moves away, ignoring the captain's wide eyes, and gets off the bed. "Whatever. I'm sick of it and you." He looks over at Grimmjow and shrugs, resentment eating at his heart. "Do whatever you want, then call Gin. I'm done with this."

He strides out of the room before either man can comment, shoving open the door to the corridor and then leaping into shunpo. He runs without direction for awhile, through corridors, under Las Noches' fake sky, and then out to Hueco Mundo's desert. It isn't until he's miles away from the white dome that he slows and stops on one of the many sand dunes, glancing back at the still quite prevalent form of Las Noches.

The resentment and bitterness is easier with Aizen out of sight, and he takes a few moments to silently mourn the loss of what would have been a truly great fuck with Grimmjow once the espada was done with Aizen. Not now, not when all trace of arousal has fled his mind and groin. He'll be lucky if he can even face the espada after that particular spew of words. In the end, Grimmjow doesn't know – and has never asked – about his past, and throwing that much of himself in front of the espada without warning or thought probably wasn't a good idea.

He sighs and scuffs a foot against the sand beneath him, Zangetsu heavy against his back. He doesn't particularly want to go back to Las Noches, not yet anyway. He needs time to recompose himself and pull back the front of _King _that the arrancar know. It's never a good idea to show any kind of weakness in front of even the regular arrancar, let alone the espada. They follow him because he's strong, and if that slips then he'll be dead meat. Or at least swamped under _way _too many challenges to get anything else done.

He fought for this spot once; he doesn't particularly want to do it again.

Eventually – after hours of wandering the sands and a bit of meditation that nearly puts him to sleep – he does head back to Las Noches. He moves cautiously back into his rooms, where he can feel Grimmjow, and finds the espada passed out on the couch – fully dressed – in the 'living room.' He closes the door softly behind him and passes by the espada to his bedroom and through that to the bathroom.

He catches sight of himself in the mirror that stretches across one wall, turning his head to see the leftover proof of the one cut that Aizen had managed to inflict on him. The left side of his neck is moderately covered in blood, part of his collar soaked with it, but he can tell with just the passing glance that the cut is practically already healed. Perks of being part hollow – or at least, perks of his _specific _hollow – he has increased healing speed. That's just a small part of the whole package deal, but for the most part it's all a good thing.

He steps towards the sink, turning it on – he's not sure he wants to know where Szayel gets the water for these – and cupping a handful of water. He splashes it on his neck, doing a lazy job of cleaning away the blood, and then switches the sink back off and steps away, turning towards one of the towels hanging on a rack on the wall. He swipes the rest of the blood away, leaving the towel stained red and pink where it's mixed with the water, and then drops the piece of cloth to the ground.

Where the people who clean his rooms come from or how exactly they get in he doesn't know, but at least they're efficient. By morning – or Hueco Mundo and Las Noches' version of it – the towel will be gone, without a trace he'd ever used it, and there will be a new one in its place.

"You alright?"

He twists his head to fix on Grimmjow, standing at the door. The espada still looks tired, mildly sleep fogged, but his blue eyes are soft and vaguely concerned.

"Yeah, I'm good. Better once I slit Aizen's throat."

While any human, or shinigami, would have gasped or lectured or something similar, Grimmjow only yawns. "Good. I'm headed back to sleep."

The espada turns and ambles out, stretching long arms over his blue hair, and he can't help giving a tiny smirk at the sight. There's something strangely pleasant about having a lover who doesn't bat an eye at his homicidal tendencies. He knows damn well that he could slaughter dozens or even hundreds of people in front of Grimmjow and the espada wouldn't care. Well, he might be pissed that he didn't get to help.

They're both a little psychotic now he thinks about it.

He straightens up as, on the edge of his awareness, Gin's reiatsu approaches his rooms. With a tiny sigh he heads out through the bedroom – Grimmjow already peacefully collapsed on the bed – and steps outside and into the white corridors just as Gin pops into view.

The ex-captain aims that never ending grin at him, only slits of his ice blue eyes visible. "Ya ready ta take yer revenge, Ichi?"

"More than," he agrees, and Gin turns to start down the corridor, pausing to allow him to step up to the taller man's side.

"So? Fas' or slow?"

At the moment he can't quite stomach the idea of drawing out Aizen's death. He just wants it over, done with. "Fast. I won't make any effort to make it painless, but it'll be fast."

Gin gives a small nod, maybe of approval, and leads the way right at the next intersection towards the throne room. "Goo'. Soul Society after?"

"Yeah. Pull together the espada, fraccion, and the ex-espada along with whatever arrancar you think could be useful. If we can, I'd like to try wiping them out while they're still grieving for their captains."

Gin laughs and pushes open one side of the massive double door with a single hand, stepping aside to let him past. "Yer still cruel, Ichi."

He snorts and walks in, hearing the door boom shut behind him as Gin releases it. "At least I'm efficient about it." His eyes fall to Aizen, kneeling in the center of the room – clothed once more though a little bloodier than he had been – with his arms bound behind his back. The captain's head is bowed forward, black restraint still clasped tightly around his throat.

He draws Zangetsu and steps around Aizen, stopping in front of him. The captain looks up at him, blood trailing from one corner of his mouth and eyes betraying a deep exhaustion mixed with heavy pain. "Anything to say, Sousuke?"

The captain huffs out a breath, voice strained and rough when he speaks. "I apologize for the way I treated you, Kurosaki. The reason I did not offer training was because I thought you would not accept help, not because I believed you did not wish to control your powers. I'm sorry."

He pauses, digesting the apology, and then gives a tight smile. "Too little, too late."

A flex of muscle, lifting Zangetsu into the air and sending it flying forwards, and just like that Aizen is dead. His head flies up a moment before hitting the ground with a wet splat, and a few seconds after that both the head and the body begin to dissolve into spirit particles with a soft blue light. He watches till no trace of the captain remains except the still closed black power restraint lying on the ground, then slings Zangetsu onto his back and heads past it towards Gin, standing at the door.

He doesn't feel better, necessarily, but he feels lighter, and that's good enough for him. "Gather the espada, Gin."

It's twenty minutes before Gin and Ulquiorra manage to collect all the arrancar and espada being brought along on their invasion, and ten more after that before they're actually ready to go. He stands outside Las Noches, holding open the gaping gargantua that they'll all be running through in a moment, and turns his eyes to Gin and Grimmjow, standing beside him.

"Are we ready?" he asks, and they both nod almost simultaneously. He grins and turns to the gathered arrancar, who look back at him with excitement and – in a very few cases – apathy. "LET'S GO!" he shouts and they surge forward into the gate within an instant. He follows, easily outdistancing the rest of them though he does his best not to get _too _far ahead of his troops, and is the first to exit out of the other side, high above Soul Society.

He pauses there, drawing Zangetsu, and waits for the rest of the arrancar to come through. They do, scattering to the four winds and announcing their arrival with explosions and battle cries. But something isn't right. The reactions are there, two or three captains diving into battle along with a host of smaller shinigami, but he can't feel the rest of them. He lets the gargantua fall shut behind them, Gin pausing at his side even as Grimmjow leaps down into the thick of things.

"It isn't just me, right Gin?" Gin shakes his head and looks around, drawing his small sword – Shinsou – from its sheath.

A moment later, as reiatsu swells thick and powerful and all around them, he understands. He jerks the gargantua open, screaming for a mass retreat, but he already knows it's too late. Before his arrancar can comprehend or he can so much as turn towards the portal, flames erupt around them in a circle and explode. Burning and devouring him and everyone else within their massive circle without mercy.

His shriek is soundless and the flames slide inside him and around him, wiping him from existence in a single moment.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading, and please, let me know what you thought! (This story is going somewhere, I promise!) Won't be long till the next chapter.

Beta-ed by the wonderful, theultimatenerdgurl, here on FF! Thank you, you awesome person! XD


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